


Ghost Drummer

by AnnieBGoode



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Band Fic, Explicit Language, Ghosts but not really, Kinda Stydia in the beginning, M/M, Nah rating will change for sure, Rating May Change, Singer Stiles Stilinski, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-08 05:23:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4292307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieBGoode/pseuds/AnnieBGoode
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is the only decent songwriter in the band - with writer's block.</p><p>He hasn't come up with anything good for 6 months when suddenly - wtf the apartment upstairs was supposed to be empty?<br/>Either Stiles is hallucinating or a fucking ghost just backed him up with drums.<br/>What the actual fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beer & Spirits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this is my first fic and I have a lot planned for this. If you like it, let me know and I shall continue the story!  
> This starts out with Stydia (nothing explicit though, 'cause I'm Sterek af), just a heads up.
> 
> Update: I would like to thank the most beautiful beta [Emela](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Emela) for giving this story the twist it needed. You are amazing!

# Beer & Spirits

 

Stiles was frustrated.

He hadn’t come up with a single song for 6 months. Okay, fine, one song but that one was shit. Like, fucking teenage boy band honest to God crap.

Just thinking about it made Stiles’ face heat up and great, now he was feeling frustrated  _and_  ashamed. “I miss you my sunlight, I love you and miss you,” just thinking the words made him throw up in his mouth a little. Good God what had he been thinking?

Nothing, that’s what. Nothing was wrong, nothing was hurting, he was fine. Too fine. “Great art never comes from a happy place” some old dude had once said. And the dude was right, God dammit.

Stiles strummed on his guitar, random chords in no particular order at first, then decided on a key and picked a steady rhythm. It sounded pretty. But it was just that. Pretty. There was nothing in it.

His teenage angst, his fear of growing up, his pining after Lydia – it had gotten them to where they were now. Kinda famous (granted only in the bay area, but still, _kinda_ famous.) They had been in a couple of newspapers and even a few magazines. Nothing big, but they had been featured in a small article on BAMmagazine.com which had them listed as one of the most promising up and coming bay area rock bands of 2015. Also they had been in the Beacon Hills Weekly tons of times. Granted, it was run independently by Kira Yukimura, who had gone to school with them, and a couple of high school students, but still. And they could live on their music which was what really counted. Sure, it’d be nice to sleep in actual beds instead of their bus when they were touring. And they couldn’t afford much, but they could make it by with their music and to them that was still mind-boggling.

Now he’d grown out of his teenage angst, he was 22 and kinda cool with the idea of growing up since he realized he could just wear jeans to work and he could hire someone to do his taxes for him. And he’d been dating Lydia for the past 2 years, so that was cool, too.

So here he was, sitting on his bed, a little bit drunk, acoustic guitar in his hand, happy as a clam. God damn it.

They had just gotten back from tour, and after 6 weeks of absence it had only taken him 2 hours to turn his apartment back into the messy state it was always in. Laundry strewn over the floor, an empty pizza box & plastic wrapping as well as dirty dishes covered the work space in his “open kitchen” (it was little more than a tiny kitchen built into a closet). Beer bottles covered the surface of his “couch table” (there was no couch and no other table, but whatever). There would be a big Welcome Home Dinner tomorrow, but for tonight they were all just glad to sleep in their own beds. Except Scott and Isaac who shared a two bedroom apartment, they all lived alone. After touring together for so long they all enjoyed having their privacy back when they got home. And now Stiles was alone for the first time since fucking too long and even though Stiles thrived on the action, the closeness and the general noise – right now it was bliss. Also, he could enjoy a glass of whiskey or two without anyone commenting on it.

Great, now he was even happier.

He furrowed his brows and bit on his lip. He got up carefully, too drunk for graceful movement but not drunk enough to not anticipate dizziness, hung his acoustic guitar back on the wall and got down his electric in the hopes of more success. Maybe he just needed to be surrounded by sound. He plugged in the guitar, turned up his amp and struck a chord. It reverberated in the big open space and Stiles just let it hang there for a minute, tuning in to the metallic sound until he decided to play the same melody he had just played on the acoustic.

Closing his eyes he tried to fill his head with the sounds only, tried to stop existing, so that the only thing left on the planet was the music. He changed up the rhythm a bit, raising his eyebrows in surprise as he found that it worked better. He was close to a hook, he could feel it, he just needed –

BANG!

Stiles almost fell off the bed in surprise. What was that? It couldn’t be a neighbor complaining about the noise because he was alone in the building except for the old deaf lady on the tenth floor and her 4 cats. His place might look like crap but living in an old factory building had its perks. Playing the guitar with an almost fully turned up amp at 2 a.m. was certainly one of them. (Having to unclog the toilet every week on the other hand, not so much.)

When nothing more happened, Stiles came to the conclusion that he must have imagined it or maybe something had fallen over in the empty apartment above him. He went back to playing, trying hard to find his rhythm but he just couldn’t get it right –

BANG BANG BANG!

“Okay, seriously, what the fuck,” Stiles muttered to himself as he pressed on the strings lightly to silence the guitar. Ghosts? Seriously – no. But what else could it be?  It had to be a fucking ghost upstairs, probably trying to destroy the building. Oh well, might as well go down playing music.

He strummed again.

BANG!

Another strum.

Another BANG!

He strummed again and –

The BANG came in a rhythm now. He started playing the same melody as before and the BANG's followed easily. Another noise joined the weird combo – a higher bang, but just as loud. Like a kick, every other beat. Suddenly he realized what that was. A fucking snare drum.

Someone (a ghost?) was playing the drums in the apartment above him and he should have been scared but he was a little drunk and finally found back into his rhythm, the friendly neighbor ghost adding other sounds to the bass drum, first a snare drum, then a couple of toms and a hi-hat – seriously, how  _big_  was this fucking ghost drum kit?!  Casper picked up the beat, Stiles followed and he was almost struggling to keep up, man, this ghost meant  _business_. They played each other into a frenzy, Stiles adding solos and changing riffs, climbing up and dropping back to an intense bass line and this wasn’t just one hook, this was one hook after another. He stopped thinking and let his fingers do the work, just went along with it, riding the high he was getting from playing until the ghost  _really fucking went for it._  No way he could play the melody in this speed so he just fell into half time, jamming down on the frets, his guitar wailing, screaming a grand finale and somehow Stiles knew where the ghost drummer was going. He strummed one last fucking perfect finishing chord and silenced his guitar just as the last booming sound of the bass drum hit.

Then the wooden clutter of drum sticks hitting the floor and muffled footsteps.

The jam session was over.

Good thing, too, because Stiles was light headed. He just stood there, guitar hanging from his neck, breathing heavily. There was no doubt, that ghost was his fucking muse and even though he was probably crazy, Stiles didn’t care. That had been some serious shit and the best music he had ever played. Fuck the stuff from the beginning, this was it. He turned off the amp, hung up his guitar and tried to focus very hard on everything he had just played so he wouldn’t forget.

When he had started playing, Stiles had easily accepted the fact that the ghost was backing him up with drums, but after that intense jam session… Yeah no way he wouldn't check out that fuckin' ghost.

Stiles gently put the guitar aside and got up. He waited for the dizziness to pass, then took his keys and an old baseball bat and stepped out into the hallway. It was deserted, but no surprise there. There were only 5 habitable apartments in the entire building and 3 of them were empty.

When he stood in the old, creaking elevator in only his boxers, he realized that if it  _was_  a ghost and it was angry to be disturbed… Well, he could have picked a better outfit to die in, but whatever.

The old elevator creaked to a halt in the floor above his. He gripped the bat tighter, heart beating fast. The door opened and he stepped out into the long, narrow hallway. It looked exactly like his floor. The hallway seemed to go on forever, with doors lining the walls at random intervals. The “apartments” used to be production halls and offices, way back when the building served as a yarn-factory. When Stiles had seen the listing of apartments in this building he liked the thought of living in an old factory, so he had gone to check it out.

On the outside the building had looked old and shabby. On the inside it  had just looked vintage and… okay fine, a little shabby but the rent was low and Stiles didn’t mind the remote location. In fact, he loved that he could go home and just… be. No danger of people randomly barging into his home, like when he had still lived with his Dad. Also, no Dad barging into his room without a warning but that was a whole other story. His flat was his refuge and after touring he always found he loved the  _aloneness_ of it.

Swallowing nervously, Stiles stepped closer to the door he assumed the ghost behind. He knew it led to a big production hall, he had checked that place out when he came to have a look at the apartment. The listing had advertised this place as “a spacious single bedroom apartment with a spectacular view of the park through ceiling high windows”. Technically, it was all true. But it really was a giant empty hall with concrete floors and a ceiling so high there was no ladder tall enough to ever allow him to exchange a light bulb. And he didn’t have a crane. It was beautiful in an eerie way but he had felt small and lost in this monster of a “bedroom” so he opted for the old office right underneath it. It might not have been it for Stiles, but he could certainly see the appeal it would have to a ghost. Lots of space for haunting purposes.

The door had a small window where you could look into the room. Heart pounding he came closer, swallowed and peered inside. What used to be just empty, open space was now filled with instruments over instruments. There were at least 3 guitars, a bass guitar, one cello, a keyboard and a _giant_ drum kit. No couch, no tables, no chairs, no bed, no furniture at all. He could only see part of the room but apart from the assortment of musical instruments it seemed to be empty. Where had the instruments come from? Had someone robbed an orchestra and this was where they kept the contraband?

After silently counting to 3 he knocked on the door and stepped back, lowering into a half crouch with his bat at the ready. He didn’t know what he had expected. Maybe a hoarse voice croaking “come in” or a nightmarish inhuman creature, barging through the door and biting off his head. However, he certainly hadn’t expected what really happened:

The most flawless human being Stiles had ever seen was now glaring at him from underneath the most impressive set of angry eyebrows. The muscles underneath his grey Henley shirt were clearly visible and when he saw the gap between shirt and low riding sweat pants, revealing a patch of dark hair, Stiles quickly averted his eyes, wanting to look anywhere but at a strange guy's crotch. Because that was weird.

When he regained the ability to think straight, Stiles closed his mouth, realized that he should probably lower the fist he had used for knocking and said, “Um. Hey.”

The eyebrows were pulled up in question by their dark-bearded owner, but the lips curled up in a smirk. Apparently he had noticed Stiles’ gaze. Great.

 “Can I help you?” The stranger's voice was higher than Stiles had expected.

“Yeah, um, I guess.” Stiles was amazed at his own rhetorical efficiency.

“Um, I’m Stiles, I’m your neighbor. I was… uh, away when you moved in.”

“Oh,” the bearded god said and opened the door a bit more. “You’re the guitarist!”

“Yeah, tha’s me!” Stiles slurred, excitedly. “And you’re the Ghost Drummer!”

“Excuse me?”

“Uh, I’m kinda drunk and, uh, I might have thought you were a ghost…?”

The door closed a bit after that.

“No,” Stiles quickly tried to explain, before he could creep out the guy enough to shut the door in his face. “I never _really_ thought you were a ghost, I just named you that in my head because I didn’t know your name and I had to call you  _something_  and shit, I’m babbling again, sorry I-“

“Derek,” the guy interrupted his word vomiting session. Stiles stopped talking mid-sentence, embarrassed and horribly aware of his drunken state. “Uh,” he said.

“That’s my name. Derek. If you want to call me something other than ‘Ghost Drummer’ in your head.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, relieved, nerves starting to settle. “Right. Derek. ’s nice to meet you.” Extending his right hand he took a step towards Derek, who shook it and smiled at him. And Stiles was not prepared for that. Underneath the dark stubble Derek revealed a set of perfectly white teeth ( _bunny teeth,_ Stiles thought to himself) and it was so beautiful.

After a moment the smile faltered and Stiles realized his face had fallen asleep. It did that sometimes. When it couldn’t keep up with his brain.

“You’re, like – I mean,” Stiles stammered. Ugh, this was going great. “You play well,” he finished lamely.

Derek huffed out what sounded like a laugh. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he said and Stiles’ stomach felt weird then. Queezy, ptobably. He had definitely had too much to drink.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, trying to distract himself from the nausea. “Um about that. Do you mind if I use that music? With my band, I mean?”

The surprised look Derek gave him made Stiles shiver. Those eyebrows…

“No, go ahead. Do I know your band?”

Stiles laughed at that and regretted it immediately. He had to go right now or he would puke all over his new neighbor.

“Maybe. Probably not. Listen, I gotta go, sorry.” With that, he turned around and left a perplex Derek standing in the doorway. But of course he hit his head on the elevator doors before being out of sight. Of course.

Stiles stood in the elevator, unable to comprehend what had just happened and trying really hard not to throw up. “Idiot,” he mumbled to himself when he got to his apartment.

So what if he watched some porn that night. So what if it was a threesome. So what if one of the dudes had dark hair and scruff. So what if he didn’t remember what the woman looked like. He was just really drunk, so that didn’t mean anything.

* * *

Stiles was woken by the sound of his own groaning.

He cracked an eye open, blinded by the sunlight that shone through the window and directly on his face. A pitiful sound escaped his throat, a hoarse squeak, when he tried to sit up. The inside of his mouth tasted of stale beer, cold smoke and dead squirrel. At least that’s what he imagined dead squirrel tasted like.

Squinting his eyes he took stock of his apartment. No wonder Lydia never came over, the place looked disgusting, even after he’d even spent only one day there. Had he really had 2 beers and 6 glasses of vodka last night? He hadn’t felt that drunk...  But he definitely had 2 beers and 6 vodka’s worth of headache. A can of coke had become a make-shift ashtray. He didn’t remember accessing his secret stash of cigarettes but the crime scene told him everything. _Lydia could never know_.

His throat was dry, his head pounding and when he got up his spine cracked pathetically. Scratching his head with one hand and his butt with the other he made his way to the kitchen. He filled his “Scott McCall is bae” cup with tap water, found a pack of Tylenol in the kitchen drawer and hoped to survive. He made a face when the water intensified the dead squirrel taste in his mouth.

Wobbling back to bed with the intention of getting another half hour of sleep in before he had to be at Allison’s, he stubbed his toe on the bed frame. An intense pain shot up from his pinky toe directly to his hungover brain and suddenly he remembered.

The ghost. Derek! Drums. Guitar. Hooks. Hooks! _All the hooks!_ They were still there! He scrambled to his bedside, all pinky toe pain forgotten, took down his e, plugged in the amp, turned it almost all the way down because he didn’t want to die and played. It was all still there! A little wobbly and not as… well, as grand as the night before but he remembered and still thought it was good. Great even. Shit, the guys were going to freak!

* * *

 

“Your face man, I will cherish the memory of that look of pure horror on your face forever, dude." Scott grinned at him from the couch, his arm loosely draped around Allison's shoulder.

"Yeah well, it cannot be unseen. Thank you for that horrible image which I will be stuck with until I die, thanks a lot for that" Stiles replied, but he couldn't be mad. It  _had been_ hilarious.

"But I still don't get  _why_ you had to pee in the sink," Stiles said.

"That," Scott told him "is between drunk-Scott and the sink."

They all laughed. Stiles was enjoying the post tour catch-up. He sat on Allison's living room floor, legs stretched out in front of him, Lydia scratching his head from the armchair he was leaning on. Hanging out with the band felt like home.

A comfortable silence fell after the laughter had died down.

Even though Allison's living room was huge they sat huddled together closely. That was a side-effect of touring together. They only had one tour bus (which had been sponsored by Jackson four years ago), and they were eight people, sometimes nine when Boyd joined them for a couple of gigs, plus instruments. So they were used to sharing their space. That's why Isaac was plastered to Allison's other side, Erica was sitting on Boyd's lap in the old love seat (Stiles was pretty sure they were doing the do but nobody messed with Boyd so they all just silently assumed) and Jackson was lying on the floor, head in Danny's lap. The two of them had gotten really close and even shared a bunk in the bus when they couldn't find a place to sleep. Jackson liked to tell them it was "guy love" but nobody believed that. After all, Danny was a good looking guy, even Stiles could see that and he was straight. Obviously. 

Stiles thought about Jackson and Danny together a lot. He didn't know why but he kind of  _hoped_ they'd end up together. It was stupid. And none of his business, so he leaned his head back to collect a kiss from Lydia.

They reminisced a bit more, telling each other stories even though they had all been there.

"And what was the San Francisco girl's name?" Scott asked.

"Sarah," Allison told him.

"That's right, Sarah! Man, that was some top-notch dining right there." They all agreed. They were able to support themselves with their music but there wasn't much luxury involved. They had signed with Omega Records, which was only starting out. Boyd was the owner and he believed in Echo House. But there was no money to waste so they couldn't afford sleeping in hotels ( _yet_ , Stiles told himself). That was why they sometimes asked the fans at a gig for a place to sleep when they got really sick of sleeping on bus seats and fighting over a place on the isle. Not many were willing or able to open up their home to 9 strangers, no matter how much they liked their music. In San Francisco however, they had been successful and Sarah, the girl who had hosted them, had even made them dinner (even though it was past midnight when they got to her place) and breakfast before they left the morning after.

"I still have her number, she told me we could come back anytime," Lydia told them. "So we don't have to worry about San Francisco the next tour."

"I was hoping by the next tour we'd be able to afford to stay in hotels," Erica said quietly.

"Me too," Lydia replied. "But for that to work we need to make the charts."

Now the silence was uncomfortable. They all knew. They had been trying so hard for so long but no matter how well visited their concerts were or how well their album was selling, it wasn't enough for the charts. Even though touring was fun and they were living their dream, they wanted so much more. 

And Stiles blamed himself. He was the songwriter and he was yet to write one song that would make it. But it would all change.

"About that," Stiles said, sitting upright, pulling away from Lydia's hand.

"I, um, I had an epiphany last night." For a moment he considered telling them about Derek, but there was nothing to tell, really. So he had jammed with his new neighbor who happened to be very good-looking. No, why would he even mention that?

"Of what kind?" Lydia asked, eyebrows raised, pulling Stiles from his thoughts.

"Of the musical kind, duh.” He shook off the image of _the eyebrows_. “Something... Uh, something happened and...” Okay, they really didn’t need to know about Derek. “I came up with something."

"Awesome!" Scott punched the air. "I knew you'd get it back, bro!"

"Thanks, man. But it's not finished. It's a work in progress. Many works in progress actually."

"Let's hear it," Erica demanded.

Stiles gut up to get Scott's guitar and amp that were sitting in the corner. So Scott hadn't slept at his and Isaac's place last night. Stiles admired that Scott and Allison could spend 6 weeks in each other's faces and still not get sick of each other. He wasn't sick of Lydia or anything, but he had been very grateful for his night alone last night.

He plugged in the guitar, took a moment to get used to the different grip and played the ghost hooks. Everyone listened intently, nodded their heads and tapped their feet in the rhythm.

They all looked at each other, grinning. Isaac drummed along with his hands on the couch table, Scott cheered and Erica sang a melody without words.  _This is really going somewhere_ , Stiles thought. Playing it for them made it real, made it feel like he had finally earned his position as  _creative director_ as they liked to call him. Jackson turned up the amp and the music filled the room, Scott and Allison got up to dance and Stiles gave them a show. He picked up the speed, closed his eyes and dipped his head back, living for the music. When he opened his eyes again, Scott and Allison weren't dancing anymore but jumping and yelling. When the finale came, he gave it his best shot, made Scott's guitar wail and sank to his knees in one last slam on the finishing chord.

They applauded, clapped and cheered. Suddenly he was pulled into a tight hug from Scott, Allison and Isaac joining in and they were all swaying on the spot.

When the excitement had died down a bit, Erica cursed loudly.

"What is it?" Lydia, who had joined in on the dance-hug pulled away and looked at Erica worriedly.

"I was looking forward to a nice break for a week or two, but we can't leave that hanging. We have to make these songs our bitches, like, yesterday."

They laughed. "So where are the lyrics?", Isaac wanted to know.

Stiles shrugged self-consciously. "I haven't gotten to that part yet."

"Don't worry, we'll help," Scott assured him. "That was amazing and we will make this work."

"But not today," Allison chimed in. "Your Mom is going to kill us if we miss dinner. We'll all enjoy a nice warm, home-cooked meal tonight at Melissa's with our families and we can go back to rehearsing tomorrow. Everyone with me?"

It was a tradition they had established over the years of touring. The day after they had returned there would be a huge dinner with all band members and associates and their families. Last fall it had taken place at the Martin's, this time Melissa wanted to host it. Stiles was excited to see Scott's mom, since he basically grew up at their house.

"Speaking of,” Boyd told them. "We have to go! We were supposed to be there ten minutes ago."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated. :)
> 
> My [ tumblr!](http://nottherightwords.tumblr.com/)


	2. Wow, Rude Much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longest chapter yet!  
> A lot happens, there's a fight and a video and a Youtuber (sounds like the beginning of a terrible joke). And guess who finally shows up! (It's Derek.)  
> Also, disclaimer: I own nothing. Except maybe the entire collection of Harry Potter books and a wand. Maybe.
> 
> Thanks to the best beta in the world, [Emela](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Emela). Thank you for all the patience!!! :)

# Wow, Rude Much?

"Now try G D B7 A, same rhythm as the bridge only twice as fast!"

Stiles laughed as Scott's face turned into a grimace of concentration as he tried to play the chords without breaking the rhythm.

"Man this is  _hard,_ " Scott yelled over the noise.

"Never said good songs were easy," Stiles yelled back. He threw his head back and kept playing, thriving on the vibrations and deafening sound they were surrounded by.

There was a pleasant tingling feeling on his scalp when Erica struck a chord that rubbed a little with the notes everyone else was playing and it was such a delicious friction Stiles couldn't put his excitement into words.

"Just like that, Erica," he told her.

"Watch it, I'm usually on the receiving end of that sentence!" Stiles hadn't heard Lydia come in and was surprised when he heard her wonderfully hoarse voice, amplified by the mic she had spoken into. It gave him goosebumps.

He laughed at her fake glare and said, "You know, you would be an amazing singer."

Erica stopped playing and grinned at Lydia. "And that's what he used to say to me." She winked at the red-head who was too used to it to still blush.

The mood was light, they were enjoying the buzz of excitement that always came with new music, Stiles actually felt a little high from it. Scott, Erica and Stiles had now stopped altogether, but Allison was still playing a gentle bass line, accompanied by Isaac's soft drumming. It was one of those perfect practices when Stiles felt like fortune and fame was just around the corner.

"That sounded... No words, guys. No words," Lydia smiled widely at them. 

"We know," came Isaac's reply from the back of the room. Lydia laughed.

She didn't join them for every practice, only when she had to make an announcement or wanted to hang.

"So you just chillin' with us or did you want anything specific?" Stiles asked, eager to get back to practicing.

"Can't I come see my boyfriend and his fabulous band?" Stiles could never resist her full, red lips, especially when she pouted. He grinned, let the guitar hang from the strap across his torso and went over to her, cupped her face with both hands and kissed her. Isaac pummeled the hi-hat in accompaniment.

"Ew, get a room!"

"Shut up, Erica," Stiles laughed, but drew back a bit and loosely hung his arm over Lydia's shoulder.

"So how are the lyrics coming along?" Lydia asked, pulling back. Stiles sobered up a bit at the question.

"Awesome!" Scott said. Lydia raised an unconvinced eyebrow. 

"Well, kinda awesome," he admitted. "I wrote some lyrics!"

Stiles scoffed. "Do you really expect me to sing  'Allison is beautiful and her eyes are like stars, I like Mars'?"

Scott hung his head like a hurt puppy and Stiles immediately felt bad for making fun of him. "I'm sorry baby, forgive me."

"I forgive you," Scott said graciously and now it was Lydia's turn to tell them to get a room.

"So I take it no lyrics then?" Lydia scanned their faces and Stiles felt his face grow hot and looked at his feet. No, he hadn't come up with anything useful, no, he couldn't think of anything, no, he wasn't doing his job right.

Lydia's tone wasn't accusing, but he still felt reprimanded.

"I have a proposition for you guys. Boyd has another client -"

"Is he dropping us?" Scott blurted out.

All hell broke loose. Stiles felt like throwing up. He had ruined it. Omega records had been their best chance at success and he had ruined it.

"We have to find a new label?", Allison asked, bass now silent, expression furious.

Isaac stopped playing completely, too, but he looked too confused to speak.

"What?" Erica yelled. "That bastard, oh I'm gonna-"

"NO!" Lydia screamed at the top of her lungs to shut them up. Stiles quickly looked at the windows to check for cracks. 

The room was completely silent. They all looked at Lydia, wide-eyed and worrying.

"Okay, first of all, you will let me finish saying what I have to say and secondly, how can you think that? We may not have made the charts  _yet,_ " (she put special emphasis on that word, just like Stiles always did in his head.) "But Boyd needs us as much as we need him. We're his most successful act at the moment. Also, he's our friend and wouldn't do that to us."

Stiles swallowed. He knew Lydia was right, but he had been worrying about that for a long time. He had thought they would be farther up by now. They were at a comfortable stage, they were making enough money to live (at last they didn't need to worry about how they would pay next month's rent), they were  _kinda_ well-known, even if it wasn't nationwide. At least Stiles could still go buy curly fries by himself without having to worry about paparazzi. But honestly, they had been at that stage for too long. 3 years was just too long. He knew his band mates were getting impatient, too, and he constantly worried they wanted to call the shots. Their reaction just now, though, had given Stiles hope that they wanted this just as much as him.

"Can I tell you about that proposal now without you guys ripping my head off?" Lydia's face was unimpressed and Stiles was reminded of how scared he used to be of her. He had to focus now so no awkward fear-boner situation arose. Literally.  _This is important business, dude,_ he silently told his crotch,  _snap out of it._

"So Boyd and I were talking. Our problem is that while we have a  _killer_ sound -"

The band cheered proudly at the praise and Stiles winked at Erica, who was largely responsible for  _their sound_.

"We are missing some kick-ass lyrics."

The commotion died down a bit. Stiles clenched his teeth but remained silent.

"And Boyd has a client who has the exact opposite problem. He's a singer songwriter, and believe me when I say, he writes incredible lyrics. But it's just him and his guitar and he's missing some serious back-up."

"We're not gonna be some singer's back-up," Erica said pointedly. "We're our own band and we got a good thing going."

"You're not gonna be his back-up," Lydia tried to calm her. "He's playing at the Nemeton tomorrow night and we're going there to check him out. Watch him play, chat a bit afterwards and get to know him. We haven't agreed to anything and neither has he. We'll just explore all options, alright?" The expectant look she gave them all made Stiles' stomach ache. 

He didn't want to go there. He didn't want to see that guy perform, have it rubbed in his face that he'd failed. But he owed it to his band. He had to give them their best shot and if this was it, who was he to deny it to them?

Allison, Isaac and Erica looked at him, waiting for him to make a decision. But he wasn't the true leader of this band. He may have been the creative mind of Echo House, but Scott was the leader. He would always put the success and well-being of the band before his own interests. And Stiles... Well, Stiles not so much.

So Stiles and Scott now looked at each other. Scott gave a small nod and Stiles sighed. 

"Alright. We'll check him out. But no promises!"

A small squeal escaped Lydia's mouth and she beamed at him. Stiles had to give that guy a chance. But he didn't have to like it. And he especially didn't have to like the fact that Lydia had gone behind his back.

* * *

 

By the time they finished practice it was dark outside. A pleasant summer night had taken over after the searing July heat the day had brought.

"Aren't you coming over?" Stiles turned around to find Lydia standing behind him. He suppressed a sigh. He'd made a quick exit, he just wanted to go home.

"No, I'm wiped," he said curtly.

Lydia drew her eyebrows together, confused. "Are you mad at me?" 

"Why would I be mad?" That had come out a lot angrier than he had expected. Lydia looked affronted.

"You tell me," she bit back.

"Well, I don't know. Maybe because my own girlfriend doesn't think I'm capable of doing my job right!" He hadn't meant to say it. Shout it, really. It had just slipped out. He'd been thinking it himself, but that Lydia had lost faith in him as well, that was a blow he couldn't deal with that easily.

Lydia's features softened. "I never thought you incapable for one second, Stiles," she said softly.

Stiles scoffed. "You just think some guy with a guitar is more capable than me."

Lydia's expression had gone from sympathetic to "don't give me that shit" in .2 seconds.

"I think you're one of the best songwriters I've ever met, Stilinski. You're going through a drought, that's all. But we need to consider what's best for the band and your insecurity is on you. Call me when you've gotten over yourself."

With that, she turned around and walked to her little red Volkswagen convertible, hips swaying and hair flowing softly in the warm breeze. Stiles almost called after her, but instead he just clenched his teeth and got into his Jeep.

* * *

 

When he got home he felt as though his brain was being squeezed by a giant fist. His head ached, his shirt was sticking to his skin, his neck was stiff and he just wanted this day to be over. But at the same time he didn't want the next day to start, so he tried to make this one last. He got out his secret bottle of whiskey (he didn't know why he even hid anything, it's not like anyone ever came over) and poured some of it into his "Abominable Snowman" mug. (He tried to act aloof but he was really into the stuff the fans made for them and he would collect their mugs and hats and little trinkets until his apartment was bursting with them and then he'd get a bigger apartment because they were little nuggets and  _made_ these. For  _him_. It warmed his heart.) He looked down at his mug and knew just what to do to make him feel better.

He took a big gulp of the whiskey, made a face as it burned his throat and chugged the rest of the whiskey in the mug before refilling it. Trying not to step on clothes or bottles on the floor he made his way to the couch. Last night's mess was still on the table but he didn't feel like cleaning up. Instead, he took a cigarette out of the pack, lay back on the couch and stared at the opposite wall while taking the first drag.

The “Abominable Snowman” idea had come from an old interview. That interview had been their first "big" media appearance (an indie Youtuber had asked them for an interview for his channel). It had taken place in Sacramento, their first tour stop after the release of 'She's a Screamer', the first Echo House song that had made it into the radio (a Bay Area station, not international, but they were stoked when it happened). At that point they hadn't fully realized how successful that song was and the interview didn't feel like a big deal. Stiles pulled his tablet towards him, didn't need to search long for the video.

A handsome black haired guy with round glasses, sitting in an old leather armchair next to a big old lamp in what looked like a hipster’s living room smiled into the camera and waved with his entire left arm.

"Well, hello everyone! This is Tristan Oaks, welcome to my YouTube channel. Today I have some very special guests and I still can't quite believe they're sitting on my couch: Echo House!" Tristan made a hand gesture that suggested he was presenting a grand prize and looked at them expectantly. Stiles remembered the weird feeling. They had been excited to be there but had never given an interview in front of a camera before, and it showed. They waved awkwardly from the torn leather couch next to Tristan and said "hey" in a quiet chorus. Only Scott looked like he belonged there, a wide smile on his open face, eyes bright and sparkling, feet on the wooden vintage couch table in front of them (after he’d asked for permission, of course). His hair was ridiculously long, covering up his face, making him look like a surfer puppy. Stiles gave a small sigh. Present Scott was still that Scott (only with a better haircut) and the Allison beaming at him from the screen was the same as the one who had hugged him tightly after rehearsal today.

"It's so good to have you here!" 

"It's good to be here, man! Thanks for having us," Past Stiles said, smirking into the camera at the end.

"Cheeky little shit," Present Stiles said, taking another sip of whiskey. He wondered if he was still that guy. 

"So tell me, what is it like, hearing yourself on the radio?"

Again, Stiles was the one to respond.

"It's weird, man. Really weird. Scotty here had to slap me when I first heard it."

The interviewer laughed, turning to Scott, who was wedged between Allison and Isaac.

"I bet you enjoyed that," Tristan said to Scott, winking. At that Scott made a scandalized face and said, "What are you talking about, man? I could never enjoy hurting the love of my life!" At that he wiggled out of his tight spot and reached over Isaac to Stiles, hugging him tightly, rubbing their cheeks together.

"I know baby, I know,” Stiles told him soothingly, adding a “Shhhh” and patting Scott’s head for good measure. They all laughed, Erica reached over Stiles to ruffle Scott's hair and smiled at them.

Present Stiles couldn't help but smile at the affectionate gesture. Then he watched as she turned to the camera, leaning in just the right angle for her to show a little of her cleavage, but not too much, smiling seductively. Yup, Erica then was the same as Erica now.

Tristan asked, "Allison, don't you ever get jealous?" over the commotion, but she just smiled warmly at Scott who was still in Stiles’ arms and said, “Please, I had to accept that Stiles would always be his number 1 when we first started dating. They’re a double-deal and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Awwww,” Past Stiles said and pulled Allison into the tight hug, which was quite an achievement, considering that Isaac was still sitting between them. They were huddled into a big pile on the couch and Tristan called, “Guys, please don’t christen the couch!” 

“Alright, alright, enough guys!” Stiles released Scott and Allison, leaned back on the couch and put his left arm around Erica.

When they had all settled back into their positions, Stiles sighed and told Tristan, “Seriously though, it’s been unreal, hearing our song on the radio. And the response, oh my God, it’s been incredible! The show last night-“

“For our viewers’ understanding,” Tristan interrupted, “These beautiful people here played in Sacramento last night and I was lucky enough to get tickets for the sold out show,” (solemn nodding in the background) “And let me tell you, the show was  _uh_ - _mazing_!”

“Thanks man, I’m glad you had a good time,” Past Stiles responded. Present Stiles scoffed at the platitude and took another sip of whiskey; he was slowly beginning to relax.

“But yeah, as I was saying, the response was  _wild_.”

“’Wild’ is the right word,” Tristan said to the camera, grinning. “I was standing pretty close to the stage and there was a  _mob_  of girls,  _screaming_ their lungs out. My left ear is still to regain hearing.”

“I know,” Isaac agreed. “Usually I’m safe behind my drum kit, but this time I could barely hear my bass drum over their noise, and they all knew the lyrics, too! Especially to ‘Screamer’”

“Which brings me to the next question: Stiles, since you write all the music, I’m guessing you’re behind ‘She’s a Screamer’ as well. What, or should I say  _who,_  is the song about?”

Tristan looked at him expectantly. Past Stiles looked uncomfortable at that question and present Stiles remembered his inner conflict well.

“First of all, I’m not the one ‘writing all the music’,” Stiles tried to avoid the last question. “We’ve been a band for over 3 years now and we’ve all poured our hearts and souls into our music. I do write the lyrics and the ‘base’,” (past Stiles used air quotes) “of our songs, but this one here,” he pulled his arm around Erica tighter and kissed her forehead, “This one is the musical genius behind it.”

“Stop it,” Erica said and put her palm square on Stiles face to push him away.

Stiles laughed and said, “But it’s true!” He turned back to Tristan.

“You see, I wake up at night and write down some unintelligible words and melody ideas and bring it to them, and  _she_ ’s the one who arranges all the instruments and gives the songs their  _Echo House sound_.” He smiled affectionately at Erica, who looked both pleased and grossed out at the same time. Then she stuck her index in his left nostril.

Present Stiles paused the video then, fumbled his phone out of his pocket, ignored the countless instagram and facebook notifications and texted Erica.

**Still love you, you old hag.**

The response came 10 seconds later.

**Fck u. <3**

Stiles laughed out loud and emptied his mug when his phone buzzed again.

**Ur wtchng the ntrvw again rnt u?**

He refilled  his mug. He hated her texting style but he loved Erica to pieces.

**So what if I am**

**Sap**

Stiles laughed again and put his phone aside. By now he had a comfortable buzz going. Smiling he pressed play on the video.

“If I didn’t know better I’d think you all were a polyamorous pile of lovers,” Tristan said, rolling his eyes but grinning.

“Why do you think you know better?” Erica responded and both Present and Past Stiles snorted at Tristan’s face.

“Alright let’s try to get this interview back to PG stuff,” the youtuber laughed. He checked one of his note cards.

“’Copper strands of hair blowing in the wind,” he cites.

“Kneel down before her

For I know I have sinned.

She shows no mercy,

No, the banshee shows her face’.

“That’s some intense stuff! So who or what is ‘She’s a Screamer’ about?”

Both Stiles’ shifted uncomfortably. This was it. Lydia had been standing behind the camera, smiling at them, nodding encouragingly up to that point.

Of course they had known that that question would come up.

“Stiles, I can’t tell you what to do. I want to be with you but I don’t need the world to know if it hurts your career.” They’d had that conversation the night before, as Lydia was lying in Stiles’ arms on the isle in the tour bus.

“But I don’t see how that hurts our career,” Stiles had mumbled sleepily. “What do they care if I’m dating our manager?”

“We both know that the front man needs to appear an eligible bachelor.” She had stroked his hair softly and he hadn’t known if he was still awake or already sleeping. Shows did that to him. They had him buzzing with energy when he was on stage, whole body tense but in a good way. He was present, experiencing every single moment as it happened. But when the last chord was played and the last word sung, the tension lifted and he felt like he’d run a marathon. So that’s how that conversation had ended.

And after Tristan had asked  _the question_  Lydia had looked at Stiles with a blank expression.

Present Stiles watched himself sigh and put on a brave face.

“There was this girl I fell in love with in Junior High,” Stiles said. “She was smart, witty, gorgeous and honestly a little scary. I’d never met any girl who was so strong and independent and didn’t put up with anyone’s bullshit.” Erica squeezed his thigh in encouragement.

It had become eerily quiet in the room.

“She was… Perfect.” Stiles sighed.

“So what happened?”, Tristan wanted to know, obviously genuinely intrigued.

Stiles gave a small laugh.

“I chased her for the better part of four years, until she noticed me. We got closer and got to know each other better and man, she was a hot-head. When she wanted something, she went for it. But what she wanted wasn’t necessarily what I wanted. One time our interests… clashed. Dude, you do not  _ever_  want to be standing in that girl’s way,” Stiles laughed quietly, looking at his feet.

“There was a big falling out and it ended in her yelling at me, like no one has ever yelled at anyone else before. Windows cracked, car alarms went off and dogs started howling a few streets over.”

General laughter.

“That was the birth of the song,” Stiles concluded, exiting story-telling mode.

Just having finished his third mug of whiskey, Present Stiles loudly slow-clapped, applauding that award-winning bullshit scene. He’d been full of crap and Tristan had bought it.

The latter was sitting there, mouth agape, eyes open wide.

“So?”, he said. “What happened with you two?!”

Stiles smiled sadly, looked at Tristan, and said, “I stopped chasing her.”

“That’s how the story ends?!” Tristan yelled. “Such a huge build-up and you just ‘stopped chasing her’? I feel so betrayed!”

“Not just you, my friend. Not just you,” Stiles sighed and they all laughed. He had then risked a glance at Lydia, having avoided looking at her while he had been telling the story. She had been smiling and given him a small nod, telling him he’d done everything right.

Now, he just sat there, wondering where they’d be if he had chosen to tell the truth.

“So is the song really a big “Fuck you” to the girl who broke your heart?”

Past Stiles genuinely laughed at the question, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders now that he’d mastered  _the question_.

“At first, definitely. But I’ve come to terms with what happened and there are no hard feelings. I prefer to see the song as an anthem to all the strong and independent women who don’t take anyone’s crap. In fact, everyone who’s ever stood up for themselves or for others,” Stiles now looked directly into the camera. “Everyone who’s had to deal with shit the universe threw at them, everyone who’s been put down by prejudiced assholes but kept going, everyone who has fucking  _spoken up_ ,” Past Stiles took a break for emphasis, but also to pick up his glass of water.

“Here’s to you. You’re all heroes. You’re the Screamer Squad.” He took a solemn sip of water.

The others hadn’t expected the speech, had in fact never heard that train of thought at all. They needed a moment in which they all stared at Stiles, speechless. But then they all grinned at each other, picked up their glasses, and yelled “To the Screamer Squad!” and took a sip. Lydia had looked like she was on the verge of tears.

There was a moment of complete silence before Tristan whispered in the direction of the camera, “I feel like I just witnessed a historical moment.”

“I think you really did,” Isaac spoke up. “So much new merch,” he added with a dreamy look on his face. They laughed.

“I think we’ve lost him,” Scott chuckled. “You see, Isaac is in charge of designing our merch and he’s amazing.”

“That he is,” Tristan agreed. “Check this out!” He got up, pulled his sweatshirt over his head to reveal a red ‘Someone Needs to Sex Me Right Now’ shirt. They all cracked up and Isaac got up to high-five him.

“And look at that,” Tristan said and turned around. The back of the shirt said, ‘Like, right now.’

“Sweet!” Scott grinned widely.

“Yeah, it’s my favorite Echo House song,” he told them, then turned back to the camera.

“Guys, I’m serious, if you haven’t listened to “Someone Needs to Sex Me Right Now”, do it. Like, right now. It’s so fucking danceable!” They all laughed and Tristan used the opportunity for a clean cut.

He thanked them for their time, listed their next tour dates and invited them back whenever. They all waved, Erica blew kisses at the camera and the screen went black.

Then the words “Deleted Scene” lit up the screen.

“You wrote a song about a banshee”, Tristan was saying. “If you were a supernatural creature, what would you be?”

“Ooooh, I’d like to be a werewolf!” Scott called. “’Cause they’re strong and fast and I also like red meat.”

Isaac wanted to be a Pheonix. “I like the thought of rising from my own ashes. Kinda poetic.”

“What about you, Erica? Would you be a nymph?”

“Excuse you,” Erica said. “I’m a witch, duh! But a muggle like you wouldn’t understand and I will have to  _obliviate_  you now.”

Allison asked if she could also be a superhero, as she’d like to be the Arrow, since she was a hobby archer.

“Stiles, what about you? What do you turn into at night when no one’s looking?”

“Abominable snowman,” Stiles deadpanned. “But uh, it’s more of like a winter time thing.”

The fans had gone nuts after that interview. They started calling themselves “Screamer Squad”, there were gifs of Stiles saying “Here’s to you” all over the internet and every other Echo House fan account on tumblr named themselves “ab0minable-sn0wman” and other variations of it.

Lydia had been all over them after the interview, proud and excited about the media attention. Also she’d been all over Stiles that night, but that was a whole other story.

Present Stiles, who had stealthily refilled his mug as to not disturb his own viewing pleasure, drained the entire thing. He didn’t even pull a face since the whiskey didn’t really burn anymore. He stared at the screen, not seeing what was on it. His own voice kept echoing in his head, “I stopped chasing her.” With a loud burp he set his tablet aside, pushing the thought away with it.

He got up wonkily, almost tripping over his own feet and made his way to the window. The view had been another reason he had wanted to live here. He lived on the 14th floor and the next neighbors lived about a mile away, so there was no one to complain about the noise he made at night and also no building to block his view at the night sky.

His vision was only slightly blurred and he gazed at the stars for a second, feeling blissfully unimportant. He was only one fucking tiny little human on this small blue ball of a planet in a miniature solar system in this fucking huge-ass space that was the universe. Did it really matter that he was going through a creativity drought? But then he remembered that he wasn’t the only tiny little human involved, and sighed. He already hated that stupid singer-songwriter who probably had these deep, meaningful crap lyrics about life and  _love_  and ugh.

That gave him an idea. A genius idea!

If they absolutely _had_ to include another person to the band, why not one Stiles knew was good? True, Stiles only knew Derek was a good drummer, but he had inspired him to write some kick-ass music, so maybe he could inspire Stiles to write kick-ass lyrics as well. There was only one way to find out.

Stiles definitely did not check out his reflection in the mirror before leaving his apartment because that would be stupid. Just like being nervous would be, so he wasn’t.

Apparently Derek had been right by the door because it only took him about five seconds to open it.

“Stiles,” he greeted, wearing a pleasantly surprised expression.

“Hey.” Stiles gave an awkward wave. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“Yeah, but don’t worry. Why don’t you-“

The bing of the arriving elevator interrupted Derek. Stiles turned around to find a gorgeous dark haired woman dressed in a casual black dress walking towards them, typing on her smart phone. When she looked up she raised an eyebrow at Stiles and for some reason his heart sank.

“Who are you?”, she asked, expression unreadable.

“I’m Stiles,” he answered, too stunned to come up with a witty response. He held out his hand. “And you are…?”

The brunette’s glance went from Stiles’ face to his stained shirt, over his torn skinny jeans and to his socks that had holes in them. Stiles cursed himself for not bothering to put on shoes. The woman sniffed the air then, and Stiles became awfully aware of the smell of whiskey and cigarettes that surrounded him. She looked at his hand and back to his face, said, “Laura,” and stepped around him and into Derek’s apartment. Awkwardly Stiles lowered his hand.

“Derek I have exciting news,” she said, as she walked past Derek. “Did you want anything?”, Laura asked Stiles from behind Derek, like an afterthought. “We’re kinda busy at the moment.”

 _Wow, rude much?_  Stiles thought but tried not giving anything away. Of course Derek had a girlfriend. A really hot one. Like he did, by the way.  It didn’t matter. Why should it bother Stiles? They were just two guys, dating two gorgeous women. All was well.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. I just… I had a question.” He focused his attention back on Derek. “Um, I told you, I’m in a band and I’ve been going through a… creative drought. Until our little jam session, that is. That was the first time I’ve come up with something useful for the past half year and I was wondering if you were interested in a collab-“

“He’s not interested,” Laura said and shut the door in Stiles’ face.

Had he just imagined that or had a drop dead gorgeous girl just slammed a door in his face? Was he really that drunk?

There were muffled voices behind the door but Stiles couldn’t make out any words. The door swung open again a moment later.

“Laura is very sorry”, Derek said, a huffing Laura crossing her arms in front of her chest standing behind him, glaring at Stiles. “She didn’t mean to be so rude.”

Laura rolled her eyes at that and added, “But he isn’t interested.”

Derek sighed and told her, “I can speak for myself, Laura.”

With an apologetic look on his face he turned to Stiles and said, “I would be interested, but I have a lot of other stuff going on right now, so…”

“Totally, yeah, no,” Stiles was shaking his head and nodding at the same time, almost giving himself a concussion. “Dude, I get it, don’t worry. Like, seriously, it was stupid, I didn’t mean to-“

“No, no, no,” Derek interrupted him. “It’s fine, really. Maybe we can jam sometime, just for fun.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, “That’d be great. Okay, I’ll leave you to it then. Good night and sorry for the late night interruption.

“Good night, no problem,” Derek told him, and Stiles was pleased to find that Derek looked genuinely sorry.

“Byeeee,” Laura called from somewhere behind Derek and the door closed.

He just stood there for a moment and wondered why he always left the fifteenth floor regretting his life choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!  
> Feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://nottherightwords.tumblr.com)!


	3. Slytherin My Ass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The squad goes to see the show of Boyd's other client and they come to an agreement. Also there's an unexpected (?) kiss!  
> There's a Harry Potter reference in the beginning because I'm a nerd, but if you want to skip that go ahead, you can still get the plot without that part.  
> It's really late, I don't know what I'm saying anymore.
> 
> Disclaimer: Unfortunately I didn't come up with Teen Wolf or the characters in it. I did come up with all of the rest, though, so that's something I guess.
> 
> Look at [ this beautiful human bean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Emela/)! She's my beta and she makes everything better.
> 
> Enjoy!

# Slytherin My Ass.

 

“I’m just saying, you’d do great in Slytherin.“ Erica shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, as if she hadn’t just insulted Stiles, who was affronted.

“But I’m not evil!“ Please, he was _definitely_ a Gryffindor. Or a Ravenclaw if it came to smarts, but he had never seen himself as anything other than a Gryffindor.

Now it was Erica’s turn to get mad. With a dramatic eye roll that involved moving her entire head. “Slytherins aren’t evil, you idiot! I’m a Slytherin! We’re cunning, resourceful and ambitious.“ With the last word she smacked her hand on the table for emphasis which had several heads in the bar turning.

“Are you sorting each other again?”, Lydia asked as she sat down across from Erica and next to Stiles. Lydia looked out of place in her short green dress with her red lips in this dark and smoky bar

They were almost complete, only Scott was missing at the round table. Stiles only scooted away a couple of inches to acknowledge Lydia’s presence.

“Yes and the fact that Stiles still doesn’t see that he’s _obviously_ a Slytherin makes me so mad! Like, if you don’t get that, you might not belong in our house after all.”

“But I know someone who would probably feel reeeeaaally comfortable in Slytherin,” Stiles drawled and shot Lydia a dirty look.

But much to Stiles’ chagrin Lydia didn’t even have the decency to be offended.

“I would, actually,” she said airily. “No shame in being ‘cunning, resourceful and ambitious’.”

Crossing his arms in front of himself Stiles leaned back in his chair; he was so done with this conversation. Slytherin his ass.

He turned to his right so he was facing the stage directly. They had a pretty good table, big enough to fit all six of them and close to the stage so Stiles would have no choice but to look at the douche with the guitar. He wondered what the guy would look like. What kind of guy would name himself “Hale”, that was so pretentious. Who did the guy think he was? Madonna? Fucking Adele? Did he really compare himself to fucking Adele?! He was probably some skinny dweeb with nerdy glasses and one of those stupid necklaces with a surfboard no real surfer would ever wear. Stiles already hated the guy and he hadn’t even come on stage yet. This guy’s lyrics had better be fucking _amazing_ or otherwise he would be really fucking pissed at Lydia. Even more than he already was.

“What’s wrong?”, Scott asked from his right, dropping onto the chair.

“Apart from the fact that I have to sit here and listen to some fucking wannabe surfer’s sentimental bullshit? Erica sorted me into Slytherin again,” Stiles sighed in response.

“Uh okay,” Scott mumbled and tried to turn back around slowly but it was too late.

“Wait,” Stiles yelled and the others from the table looked up. “You _still_ haven’t read Harry Potter?!”

Erica jumped up, brown bambi eyes open wide. “Are you serious?!”

“Shhhhh, the show is about to start!” Lydia tried to keep the peace but Erica wasn’t to be stopped.

Successfully ignoring her, Erica yelled “Oh my God, I’m going to hit you over the head with the entire collection, and I’m not talking weak-ass paper backs, _while_ you watch Star Wars, good God!”

The look of pure terror in Scotts face was probably what prompted Boyd to gently pull Erica back into her seat next to him and quietly say, “You’re scaring him, Erica.”

“Yes you are,” Scott agreed, looking like a deer caught in the head lights.

“No baby, I’ll read them to you,” Stiles told Scott soothingly and grabbed his hand on the table with both of his. “I’ll read them to you in bed and make all the different voices.” He looked deep into his best friend’s eyes and stage whispered, “Baby I’ll make it so good for you, I swear.”

Keeping up the intense eye contact, Stiles released Scott’s hand and instead cupped Scott’s face with his hands. Silence had fallen around the table and he leaned forward, could feel his best friend’s breath on his lips when the urge to laugh became too much and he had to pull back.

The tension on the table eased and Stiles told Scott he’d never play chicken with him again.

“We played chicken?” Scott asked innocently but the mischievous twinkle in his eyes told Stiles everything.

“Aw, come on, just do it already,” Allison called, laughing.

“Alright,” Scott replied, shrugging and winking at her.

Soft guitar sounds started playing in the background when Scott turned back to Stiles, grabbed him by his batman shirt and pulled him into a kiss. And not a quick peck on the lips. What the fuck was going on? Stiles was about to pull away but if he was honest with himself, he had wondered what it would feel like a couple of times in his life. So after the initial shock Stiles gave an internal shrug and just went along with it. Scott really went for it, opening his mouth and sucking lightly on Stiles’ lower lip, dragging one hand through his hair and scratching his head so that a chill went down Stiles’ back. “Hell yeah!”, Erica called, there was a flash of light and someone whistled. Admittedly, Scott wasn’t a bad kisser. But kissing his as-good-as-brother did absolutely nothing for him, so he pulled back after a couple of seconds.  

Scott looked as disoriented as Stiles felt, but that was nothing compared to what he felt when he turned to look who was playing the guitar on stage.

“Shit,” he whispered as he found himself looking at McDreamy-Steamy-Double-Whipped-Creamy Derek. Who was looking right back at Stiles.

“Alright everybody, pay up” Allison said, as the soft guitar sounds continued. Stiles came back to himself when Boyd, Erica and Isaac each passed a couple of dollar bills to Allison who counted them and gave half to Lydia.

“What’s going on?”, Stiles demanded.

“We had a bet,” Allison informed him.

“Wait, what?” He couldn’t believe it.

“Please,” Lydia said. “It was only a matter of time. Actually I’m a little surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

“Sooner?” What the fuck was going on? Why would he ever kiss Scott? Fine, it had happened, but it’s not like Stiles had planned this. Ever.

“Yeah, my first guess was middle school.” Lydia gave him a smug smile.

Stiles looked at Scott with wide eyes, unable to process any of what was going on. He had just been kissed by his best friend whom he called _brother_ and now Ghost Drummer Derek was serenading them with a warm, silky voice. Derek. Hale. Derek Hale. It clicked.

The guy whose parents had died in a fire. Of course he wouldn’t use his full name because everyone in Beacon Hills knew about it and Stiles was hot and speechless and he needed a drink. Something stronger than the beer he was currently nursing.

“Erica, I’m going to need that photo,” Lydia was saying as he got up to go to the bar.

“Aw, you’re no fun,” came Erica’s reply. Stiles didn’t know if she had said that to him for walking away or to Lydia for collecting the evidence as she always did, but he didn’t care.

He made his way through the crowd, ordered three shots of Tequila and downed the first one, scrunching up his face as the liquid burned his throat. He didn’t even bother with salt or lemon. When he felt someone tap his shoulder he silently handed the third shot to Scott who Stiles knew was standing behind him. Their eye contact was over quicker than usual but they downed their Tequilas without a word.

When Scott’s face relaxed after the burn he looked at Stiles apologetically but Stiles shook his head. “It’s not about the kiss.”

Scott’s look of concern and confusion had Stiles smirking. “Even though the kiss was fantastic, baby,” he added with a wink.

Relieved laughter was Scott’s response. “Man, you had me seriously worried there.”

“Nah man, it’s all good. I’ve wondered what it would be like and now I know. But can we not do that again, please?”

“Pinky promise.” Stiles laughed but intertwined his pinkie with Scott’s.

“Glad we got that out of the way,” Scott joked. “Now, what’s up?”

If Stiles was going to tell anyone, it’d be Scott.

“Do you know who that is?”, Stiles asked.

“Who? Hale?” Scott looked even more confused than before.

"Dude, that’s Derek Hale. You remember, right? He's only like a few years older than us."

"Remember what?" Stiles was this close to biting his fist.

"His family,” Stiles said. He didn’t know how to sugarcoat it so he just said, “They all burned to death in a fire, like, ten years ago."

“Sixteen years ago,” a voice next to his ear said. He jumped and turned around to see who had spoken. The gorgeous brunette bitch from last night was giving him the stink face. What the fuck was she doing here?

“And not all of them,” she added. Laura. Of course, she was Laura Hale, one of the three Hale siblings who had survived. Stiles wanted to punch himself in the face.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Stiles stuttered but Laura just lifted her eyebrows.

“For what? For us losing our parents or for being an insensitive asshole about it?”

“Both?” Stiles offered and he might have imagined it but he could have sworn he saw the ghost of a smile before her face quickly settled back into the stone mask.

“What are you doing here anyway?”, she demanded.

“Uh, our manager wanted us to listen to Hale, uh… Derek play-“

“Wait, you’re with Echo House?”

It was Stiles turn to raise his eyebrows. When she didn’t say anything he did the math. Laura was probably Derek’s manager. And she had probably arranged the meeting with Lydia and Boyd.

“So how do you guys know each other?” It was Scott who had spoken up.

“Uh sorry, that’s what I was trying to tell you,” Stiles responded. “Scott, this is Laura.” The two shook hands. “Laura, Scott plays the guitar in Echo House. And Scott, Laura is Derek’s, I mean Hale’s sister. He lives upstairs from me and I met them last night.”

He didn’t have to tell Scott everything right now. It could wait. For when Laura wasn’t standing next to them. But of course Laura had to ruin it with “Yeah, when you asked Derek to join the band.”

“You what?”

Of _fucking_ course Lydia had to show up at that _exact_ fucking moment.

“First of all, _you wish”,_ he told Laura coldly. ”And secondly, what kind of manager doesn’t even know what the members of the band she’s trying to get her client into look like?” Now he had her, Stiles was sure. He didn’t have to take shit from her.

“Trust me, Stiles, I would have recognized you if you hadn’t looked like a hobo, been drunk off your ass and smelled of stale cigarette smoke.”

“Stiles,” came Lydia’s voice from his right, speaking calmly and sweetly. “Why would Laura say you smelled of stale cigarette smoke?”

His first instinct was to run away.

His second was to hunch his shoulders and hide his head between them so Lydia couldn’t rip it off.

But in the end, he figured they were already fighting, so might as well make it worthwhile.

“Probably because I smoked a couple of cigarettes, Lydia.” His response was just as calm and sweet as her question.

“Fine,” she said. “If you want to kill yourself go right ahead. Just know that I would have done a better job at it.”

Turning to Laura she said, “Hey Laura, good to see you,” and even went in for a hug which Laura leaned into. They looked like close friends and Stiles could only wonder about the passive aggressive genius that was his girlfriend. He couldn’t possibly feel shittier. He was kind of impressed with her.

“Now, let’s get back to our table and do what we came here to do. Listen to Hale play and have a good time!”

-

Twenty minutes later Stiles had to admit that Derek… Hale? What was he supposed to call him now? Derek had introduced himself as Derek, so that’s what he’d go with. As always Stiles did a great job at confusing himself. But he had to admit that Derek was… something else.

His style of playing the guitar had something unique. He played the strings with an ease Stiles had never quite achieved. Stiles was a good guitarist, if he did say so himself, but Derek played the instrument like it was his second nature. The fingers of his left hand ghosted over the frets with a swiftness Stiles had never seen before and the fingers of his right hand plucked, strummed and stroked the strings in a way that made Stiles’ throat go dry.

He couldn’t help but close his eyes as he listened to the song Derek was currently playing. What it was about he hadn’t quite figured out yet. It seemed to be about love but then Derek sang about hurt and guns and wood but it still made some weird kind of sense and Stiles was blown away. The melody was gentle but with an edge to it, and it complimented the lyrics so beautifully that he couldn’t help but feel sad that he hadn’t come up with it.

“You pressed your finger on the wound but not hard enough.

The time spilled out of my heart and left the edges blunt and rough,

 It ran through my hands,

Your finger curled and I burned.”

Derek sang and Stiles’ face felt hot and his eyes were burning. He wished he could be this honest in his songs.

Nobody at the Echo House table was speaking. Even Erica was completely entranced. While Isaac’s fingers were drumming on the table top, hers were playing chords on an invisible piano underneath it and her lips forming words, ready to sing harmonies Stiles knew were forming in her head. Scott’s and Allison’s eyes were closed and Scott stroked her hand that lay on his thigh.

Stiles’ heart was aching and when he looked at Lydia he found that she was looking at him with a mix of sadness, pride and hope in her eyes and in that moment it didn’t matter that they were fighting. Stiles took her hand in both of his and kissed her fingertips lightly. She gave him a warm smile and turned back to look at Derek, but left her hand in his.

For the first time in fifteen minutes Stiles now looked at Derek and regretted it immediately. Eyebrows drawn together and eyes closed, he looked wrecked. The song was real. The lyrics were real and the music was real and so was this moment and it hurt _so good_. He caught Laura’s eye and she looked smug. God, if he couldn’t hate Derek he could at least hate her.

Stiles cleared his throat and looked at Boyd instead who was looking at Stiles… curiously. When their eyes met Boyd just nodded at him and looked to Derek. What was that?

It turned out that Derek couldn’t just do the romantic love song voodoo, there were up-beat songs, too. Derek used a loop for those and Stiles admired how much sound he could produce with just his mouth, his guitar and that little black box. Stiles could only imagine what Derek would be able to do with an entire band. Derek and Erica together would be a force of nature. But what would be Stiles’ part in this? Hating himself for that thought Stiles tried to channel his inner Scott. What was the best for the band? The problem was that he didn’t _have_ an inner Scott. That’s why he had an outer one.

-

After Derek had played his last song and an encore and another encore he left the stage. Lydia turned to him with anticipation written all over it.

“So?”

“So what?”, Stiles asked because he was an asshole and couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Well, what do you think?”

“Does it matter what I think?”, he snapped and felt horrible about it but he couldn’t help it.

Clearly annoyed, Lydia rolled her eyes at him but before she could respond Laura got up and said, “I’m going to check on Derek and bring him over, alright? I’ll be back in a sec.” And with that she walked away.

Stiles sighed heavily.

“I thought he was… good,” he admitted.

Ignoring her huff in response, he directed the next question to the whole table.

“What do you guys think?”

“Awesome.” Isaac liked to keep things short.

 “That dude was amazing!” Scott yelled and Allison added, “He was so good, I could have listened for hours!” Her eyes were sparkling as she said that and even though Stiles agreed with all of them he couldn’t help but feel jealous.

“Oh my God, I think I had an actual orgasm at one point just from listening to the guy,” Erica said to which Boyd rolled his eyes but the others laughed. “Doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes, either,” she added and earned nodding from the group. Stiles froze when he realized he was nodding, too.

“Um, thanks,” came the mumbled response from behind Stiles. There was Derek, in his black jeans and grey henley, cheeks flushed and Stiles felt his face grow hot again. He tried to shake it off, got up to give Derek an awkward fist bump hand shake half hug after which he wanted to die a little bit but he introduced him to the group nevertheless.

When he’d shaken everyone’s hand (and Erica’s twice) Derek sat down between Laura and Boyd. They all complimented him on his show and Derek blushed some more (the tips of Derek’s ears actually went pink, too, and Stiles was extremely annoyed with himself for noticing). Derek told them how much he liked their music and talked about a couple of shows he’d been to and they started off with some small talk.

After about ten minutes of “How long have you been making music?” and “Do you have any pets?” Laura interrupted the All About Derek Show.

“So I know you guys liked Derek’s music-“

“Laura,” Derek cut Laura off. Stiles remembered their conversation from last night and how Derek hated her speaking on his behalf.

“Fine,” she responded and made a hand gesture that Stiles interpreted as “go ahead, see how far it’ll get you.”

Derek spoke to the whole group then.

“I have to be honest with you guys. When Laura first brought this up, I was skeptical. I’m guessing you were, too.”

“Wellllll,” Erica drawled, “I _guess_ you could say that.”

Derek smiled and spoke carefully, measured. “But I’m open to look into it, if you are.”

Suddenly all eyes were on Stiles as if he had just shot a gun. He took a moment before he started speaking.

“There’s no point in denying that we all loved the show tonight.” He didn’t know what to say and turned to Scott in hope to find answers there but Scott was leaving it up to him.

“You write beautiful music and I would love for us to play some of it, but what would be your part in the band?”

“You tell me.” Stiles had not expected that response.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t want to just be a songwriter, I want to perform my own music. But I don’t care what instrument I play. As you know I play the drums,” (Stiles got nervous for a second, expecting questions about why he knew that but when nothing happened, he relaxed) “and the guitar,” Derek continued. “But if you’d rather I play the bass or drums or piano, I don’t care.”

Stiles appreciated that the other band members got a little nervous after that, for the first time considering that Derek might take their spot. But it also made him mad, because if Derek thought he could just replace one of Stiles’ band mates – no way in hell.

“That’s really impressive,” Stiles said, trying not to sound sarcastic, “but none of us are leaving the band so you can get in, sorry.” His tone was bitter, sharp and he hated himself for being such an asshole.

Derek’s eyes went wide in what appeared to be both confusion and annoyance. “I’d never ask that. I’ve been listening to you guys for years and I’d never try to break you guys up.”

The tension eased after that and Stiles was glad he hadn’t been wrong about Derek. The guy seemed nice enough.

“I was just saying, that if you want a second bass or another drummer, it doesn’t matter to me what instrument I play.”

“Alright. Well the only problem I see is that we’re a good constellation as we are. Another drummer would be too loud, another bass, too. One piano is enough and so are two guitars,” Stiles was listing what came to his mind. He was trying to find a way to make them all see that Derek didn’t fit into the band. His ideal would be to have Derek as co-writer and opening act but he didn’t quite know how to sell that to the band, never mind to Derek and Laura.

That’s when Isaac spoke up.

“Actually, I’ve wanted to play percussions for years.”

Stiles knew that it was selfish, trying to force Isaac to play the drums when he clearly wanted something else, but as Erica had said, they had a good thing going on. He didn’t want another band member. Or worse, he didn’t want to be replaced.

“Uh, but Derek is such an amazing singer! It would be stupid to have him play the drums; it’d be a waste of assets.”

“That’s why he should play the guitar and sing. Scott can play the drums.”

Fucking Isaac. Stiles had felt bad for forcing him to keep playing the drums and now the bastard wanted to give Derek Stiles’ job? No way in hell.

“But Scott can’t play the drums,” he said, voice rising without his consent.

“Yes he can,” Scott said. “Isaac has been teaching me.”

Why had Stiles not known about this?!

“Why did I not know about this?”

“You’ve been busy, man,” Scott responded, good-naturedly.

“So you’re saying…” Stiles began, not quite knowing where his own thoughts were headed, “You want to play the drums, so Isaac can play percussion, and Derek would play the guitar and sing?”

“But the entire band dynamic would change and it wouldn’t be Echo House as we know it,” Erica said, sadly. Tempers were rising, Stiles realized, not only he was uncomfortable with this.

Laura huffed. “But that’s exactly what you wanted. What you needed. You guys have been successful for three years, but you never _made it_.”

“Hey!”, Isaac interrupted, but Laura ignored him.

“Look, you’re good at what you do. And so is Derek. But together you could be great. You could revolutionize your own sound and Derek would be a part of that. Isaac would do what he loves, Scott would get a new challenge and the fans would love it.”

Stiles may not have liked Laura, but damn, could that woman make speeches.

“Stiles and Derek would write songs together, and Omega Records would finally get one big act that made it, not just to the top of the bottom but to the actual top.”

The table was quiet for a couple of seconds after that.

“I like where this is going,” Boyd said. Everyone looked up at him. Boyd was always very quiet, so when he talked, he usually had something to say.

“Here’s the deal: We’re all going to think about it. You, Echo House, are going to consider changing up your… assembly or whatever you want to call it. Try it out, maybe a week or so. And I will take the week to come up with a strategy in return, work something out with Lydia and Laura. If we all like what we’ve come up with, it’s a deal. If not, well then no one’s lost anything.”

Stiles felt his band mates’ eyes on him. He looked at Scott, then at Derek – and nodded.

“Alright”, he agreed. “One week.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :)
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated.
> 
> Come say hi on [ tumblr](http://http://nottherightwords.tumblr.com/)! If you want.


	4. I Like Chai Latte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After listening to Derek play the band has to make up their minds.  
> Should Derek join the band? Whose spot would he take?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot has happened!
> 
> I found a beta who gave me the best advice and I re-wrote/fixed parts of the fic.  
> For one I combined chapters 1 & 2, so chapter 2 was deleted. Also, the early Sterek dynamics changed a bit, but you'll be able to catch on without re-reading. (If not, please let me know!)
> 
> With that out of the way, I would like to thank said beta, the talented [ Emela](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Emela)! Check her out, she is one of my most favorite favorites ever! SO MUCH STEREK!
> 
> And thank you to everyone who has commented so far, it means a lot!!! :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I still don't own anything. Which is a shame.

# I like Chai Latte

 

One week. That was all he had. One week. Easy. He just had to come up with at least, like, two super amazing songs that were better than everything he had ever written to prove to everyone they didn’t need Derek Hale. Easy.

Except that he had been trying to accomplish that for the past six months now and not come up with anything by himself. God damn it.

And now he was lying on his bed alone (he had waved Lydia off after Derek’s gig), fully dressed and fully drunk, and if it was for the 4th day in a row, well that was nobody’s business. Why couldn’t he just get his act together? The music had come pouring out of him for years, what was wrong with him now?

His room was illuminated only by moonlight pouring in through the blinds. His old leather notebook was staring at him from its spot on Stiles’ nightstand. Its skin was the only battered and used looking part of it. After he had exchanged the last notebook which had served him so well that there was not a single page left to write on for a new one, he’d barely managed to fill any pages at all and it still looked good as new. He picked it up and opened it to the first page. It was too dark to read but Stiles knew it said, “Property of Stiles Stilinski. Read or take without permission and I’ll kill you. To death.” Every single notebook of his since eighth grade said the same thing on page one. It was a silly sentimentality, but without those words the notebooks wouldn’t feel like his.

Pages two to twelve had words written on them, but after that it was all empty pages. He sighed and put the book back.

Upstairs he could hear Derek pacing. That didn’t help ease his mind.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

Again, he ignored all social media notifications but the text from Scott.

**you ok man?**

For a second he considered lying, but decided against it.

**be there in 5**

Stiles couldn’t help but smile. Scott was the best friends he had ever had and even if they hadn’t been that close in the past couple of months, with Scott having Allison and Stiles Lydia… That would never change.

**Nah, it’s fine. Breakfast at the parents’ at 10?**

No matter how drunk he was, grammar was Stiles’ thing. He could probably write a grammatically flawless essay with a whole bottle of whiskey in his system. So the half he’d had now didn’t throw him off his grammar game.

**alright man let me no if you change yr mind**

They texted their good-nights and Stiles closed his eyes, about to fall asleep, when he heard a soft knock on the door. The pacing upstairs had stopped, he only realized now. So that was probably Derek on his door. Stiles wanted to open the door. He wanted to talk to Derek, sort it all out. Tell him, Derek could be co-writer. But he knew that wasn’t was Derek wanted. So he didn’t respond and hoped Derek would think he was asleep. There were three more soft knocks, but after about a minute of nothing happening, Derek gave up.

After that, Stiles was ashamed for acting so childish, but also afraid to make a noise so he just went to sleep without getting changed.

He smirked at how ironically punk rock that was.

* * *

 

It felt good, sitting at the table with Scott, like when they were little and Stiles had spent the night. Eating their cereal in comfortable silence, Stiles smiled to himself. They had just waved his dad off to work and it had been good to see him, even if just for five minutes. And though this wasn’t the house he had grown up in, it felt like home.

Before their parents had gotten married, Stiles’ dad had asked him how he felt about him moving in with Melissa. At first, Stiles wasn’t too happy about it. He didn’t want to sell the house where he had grown up, where all the memories of his mom still lingered. But in the end, that was also a part of why he was alright with it. He didn’t need a house to remind him of his mom and he knew his dad didn’t either and he deserved a fresh start.

So when his dad moved in with Melissa, Stiles moved into his little factory office and Scott and Isaac moved into a decent sized apartment downtown. Though Melissa had insisted on keeping Scott and Isaac’s room so that either of the three (or all of them) could stay over anytime they wanted.

But today, Stiles and Scott were only there for breakfast.

“Fo? Whaddaya fink?”, Scott asked, bits of Raisin Bran flying out of his mouth.

Stiles swallowed his mouthful of Captain Crunch, studied the back of the cereal box and asked, “About what?”

“About Derek Hale, duh.”

“Um. I don’t know,” Stiles answered. And he genuinely didn’t know. Setting down the box Stiles finally looked at Scott and sighed. What he really wanted to say was, _What if he is the better songwriter? What if the band likes him better? What if the fans like him better? What if Derek takes my place?_

But he only said, “I guess my ego is bruised. I’m the songwriter of this band, that’s my whole job. So if we hire another songwriter I’ll be kinda useless.”

Expression incredulous and a little milk spilling out of his mouth, Scott asked, “Are you being serious right now?”

Stiles didn’t know how to respond, so he just shrugged.

In a dramatic gesture Scott flung up his arms, rolling his eyes so hard Stiles was curious if Scott had just gotten a glance at his own brain.

“Oh my God, dude,” Scott yelled, “You are the backbone of this band! No one could ever replace you!”

Stiles lifted a doubtful eyebrow.

“Besides,” Scott added, “Who will tuck me in at night on the tour bus if you’re not around?”

Stiles jumped and dropped his Captain Crunch loaded spoon down his shirt, when a voice behind him said, “Well, I’m not going on tour with you for that.”

He turned around to find Melissa holding a napkin out to him. Scott laughed and got up to greet his mom while Stiles rubbed at the milk stains on his shirt. Then Stiles went to hug Melissa as well.

“What are you doing here?”, she asked when she sat down at the table after the boys had helped her put away the groceries.

“We wanted to have breakfast together, but Isaac has stuffed our entire flat with weird tubes and gongs and stuff. On top of all the paintbrushes, I mean. There’s a steel drum in our sink and last night I walked in on him playing the glockenspiel on the toilet. And Stiles likes to keep his lair private, so we came here. We even brought our own cereal!” As if trying to prove it, Scott waved his box of Raisin Bran.

Apparently speechless, Melissa just stared at Scott in hope of an explanation. Stiles wasn’t surprised. Isaac had had lots of percussion instruments in his room, but the really weird stuff he had kept in the hall closet. After the talk last night he had probably gotten it all out and started practicing in hopes of getting to play percussions from next week on. He probably didn’t even care who wrote the songs as long as he could play his xylophone. Hell, he probably didn’t even care if Stiles stayed in the band or not. Stiles couldn’t help but feel disappointed. The two of them had had a rough start but they had become friends with all the touring and playing and having a fuckton of fun together. But apparently Stiles had misinterpreted that.

“Okay well, I’m not sure I want to know more about the Isaac situation,” Melissa said, scrunching up her face. “But why are you making a face like you were slapped in it, Stiles?”

Stiles inspected his almost empty bowl of cereal closely, hoping his brain would come up with an explanation that didn’t make him sound like a self-absorbed asshole. But it didn’t, so he just shrugged and mumbled, “Nothing.”

After a moment of silence, Melissa said, “Alright, well if you want to talk, you know where to find me. But for now I’m off to take a nap. That shift was a nightmare, two car accidents in one night. You two be careful, okay?”

They promised her they wouldn’t speed or run red lights or try to moon someone while driving (mooning someone while riding shotgun was fine in Melissa’s books), then she went to bed.

Scott and Stiles spent the afternoon on the couch, playing video games and eating junk food like when they were teenagers.

When the sheriff came home they even scrounged a nice dinner of vegetable lasagna and Stiles enjoyed spending the evening with his entire family thoroughly. Feeling comfortably full he left the Stilinski-McCall home with enough leftovers to last him two days. For a moment he even considered driving to Lydia’s, but going there would mean talking and he wanted to end this day on a positive note. So he just drove home and went to bed early.

* * *

 

While the week had started off nicely with breakfast with Scott, it went downhill from there.

He had told his band mates he needed time to think, so they had cancelled band practice until further notice.

Stiles spent all of Tuesday in bed, only getting up to get another beer (noon definitely isn’t too early to drink when you’re trying to steal a kiss from the muse, okay?!). All he came up with, was _I am so drunk, I might have to puke_ and later _shit I had to much_.

After reading that on Wednesday morning he vowed to never have an entire 6-pack of watermelon flavored Fours by himself because a) it had gotten to his grammar/spelling and that must NEVER happen and b) vomiting watermelon flavored bile was fucking disgusting. So he had a greasy afternoon breakfast at Sally’s who kept the coffee flowing, but neither there nor later on Erica’s couch did he come up with anything other than _I can’t come up with anything_. Before going to sleep, he listened to Derek’s last album and hated to admit that it was brilliant. He turned it off after four songs.

Thursday was perhaps the best day of the week. He went to the _Old Theater_ which was a coffee shop that used to be a movie theater. Stiles liked everything about it, especially the old theater seats and the creative name they had chosen. You could choose between a seat looking out the glass front or one on the second floor, looking down on the register and the other guests. It was outrageously small; even though it had two floors it only fit, like, ten people tops. His favorite spot upstairs was free and his favorite barista, the one with the soft smile and the even softer dark curls served him his favorite hot beverage (Chai Soy Latte with extra sugar). After spending two and a half hours there, all he had was _I like Chai Latte. A lot. A Lotte. God damn it._

On Friday Lydia sent a message to the band message group.

Lydia: **Boyd wants to meet on Sunday night. With Derek & Laura Hale. We need to decide. Meet up tomorrow at the PR, 8.30?**

Allison: **Scott & I are bringing pizza!**

Isaac: **8.30 is fine.**

Erica: **no pepprs thx**

Stiles: **OK.**

This was officially shit. He would never come up with anything useful by tomorrow. God fucking damn it. No matter how mad he was at Lydia and Isaac, they were part of his band. He didn’t want to get kicked out by Derek fucking Hale.

So he tried harder to come up with something. _I hate Derek Hale_ and _Derek Hale is an asshole. An Ass-Hale. Basically._ He crossed out _even though he’s really pretty._ So Friday wasn’t exactly a success.

* * *

 

On Saturday morning Stiles’ first thought was, _I give up_. His head was empty of lyrics but full of regret, and when he opened his eyes to the blinding daylight that came in through his windows, pain made an appearance as well.

He felt bad for shutting Lydia out for an entire week. He had never done that before. It was a strange feeling, knowing that he had spent so many years chasing her and now he had just cut her off. Even though she had gone behind his back, she had the well-being of the band in mind, always, and that was one of the many reasons he loved her. She was fierce, stubborn and always right (Stiles didn’t even bother to insert an ‘almost’ there because who was he kidding?) and he couldn’t punish her for being the fiery hot-head (no pun intended) he had fallen in love with.

But making up could wait until the evening; he still had his dignity after all.

Resigned, Stiles got to cleaning up his apartment, because he had nothing else to do and it had to be done eventually. With his earphones on he washed the dishes to Led Zeppelin, vacuumed the flat to The Weekend, cleaned out his ashtray and collected the empty bottles and cans to Dire Straits. When it was time to go to the practice room he looked back into his apartment, satisfied for the first time this week. If he got kicked out of the band, maybe he could come along as the Echo House tour bus maid.

* * *

 

When Lydia opened the door, looking at him unimpressed, Stiles discarded the speech he had planned on the way. He had missed her face. He looked at her questioningly, asking silently for permission. She pursed her lips in thought for a second, but then took a step forward. Relieved, Stiles closed the distance, cupped her face with his right hand and drew her closer by the waist with his left before he kissed her. Lydia sighed into it and Stiles knew the feeling. Fighting was exhausting. Enjoying the familiarity of her lips on his, he felt as if the entire week didn’t have to be as bad as it had been. He had been immersed too deep in his own thoughts. Lydia always managed to screw his head back on right. This was where he was supposed to be. This came easy to him.

A moment later Lydia pulled back, her gaze locked with Stiles’ – and she slapped the back of his head.

“This isn’t over, Stilinski,” she warned him, but her face was soft.

“Got it.” The smirk earned him another slap, on the chest this time, but was totally worth it.

Lydia pulled him into the room where Erica and Isaac were already waiting. Trying not to be hostile towards Isaac he started some easy conversation, but he was relieved when Scott and Allison came a few minutes later with the pizza.

They all dug in happily, even Erica after she found the one without peppers. Even though the Hale-Gate was still on his mind, Stiles allowed himself to relax. It had been too long since they had hung out. How could he have thought cutting off his band, his _family_ , would make him feel better?

After they had annihilated four pies between the six of them, they were all quiet, only Vance Joy sang quietly in the background. Stiles felt uneasy, even though they were so damn cozy here on the old leather couch and the nasty old rug that almost felt like home after years of practicing in this room. Someone had to start, though, so it might as well be him.

“So how do you guys feel about letting Derek Hale in?”

“That’s what I like about you,” Erica said. “You just cut the crap and go straight for the gold. I appreciate that.”

“Yeah, unlike you,” Stiles deadpanned and Erica laughed.

“You got me, Batman.” Stiles smiled when he heard her use her old nickname for him. “Alright. I used our time off to listen to some of his music. He’s good. His stuff is a little…” she took a moment to find the term she was looking for.

“Darker?”, Isaac offered.

“Yeah.” Erica nodded. “His stuff is darker than ours but I like how his music supports his lyrics. He probably won’t give us any great floor shockers, but… I don’t know, I feel like… _his_ intensity with _our_ sound… I’m kinda curious to see how that turns out.”

She had a point. But-

“What about our sound, though? With Scott on the drums and Isaac on the _percussions_ ,” Stiles couldn’t help but spit out the last word. “I’m not sure what our sound will sound like.”

“That’s our cue,” Scott told Isaac excitedly and the two got up. While Scott sat down behind the drum set, Isaac wheeled a gigantic set of chimes from behind one of the amp towers. Of fucking course.

“Okay, so we prepared something for you guys, because I know most of you haven’t heard me play the drums before,” Scott told them. Turning to Isaac, who was holding two hammers, he asked, “Ready?” The latter nodded and Scott counted them in.

What happened next, Stiles was completely unprepared for.

Starting out with a sharp beat on the snare drum, Scott set the rhythm. Isaac hit the lowest chime with the hammer in his left hand every other beat and Stiles didn’t quite know how to describe the sound. It was like a muffled ringing of a huge bell and an interesting contrast to the biting bangs of the snare drum. Scott added the hi-hat to the equation, while Isaac started playing an easy melody with the left hammer. Suddenly the bass drum had the room shaking, booming in an unusually quick progression, growing louder and ebbing away, only to build up again. When Isaac hit a chime with the right hammer for the first time Stiles felt like he had just been woken up by a bell, a not entirely unpleasant feeling. He kept a steady rhythm with the left hammer, playing what Stiles now recognized as the bass line, while he added a complex melody with the right hammer. Not knowing what to focus on, Stiles kept looking from Scott to Isaac and back. Scott was grinning like a maniac, obviously really into the beat. He didn’t pick up the speed and he didn’t slow down, he kept the beat up like a clock-work. Isaac, on the other hand, looked completely blissed out, eyes closed head nodding, occasionally whipping from side to side as if following the melody. It was a beautiful sight.

They reached the climax of their piece, gave it their all before abruptly ending with a hit on the hi-hat and a dull blow to the lowest chime.

Coming out of their trance, the two looked up at the others expectantly. The room was completely silent now, it seemed as if Stiles wasn’t the only speechless one.

Erica was the first one to speak up.

“That was amazing and I need more of it in my life.”

When he realized that he was nodding, Stiles admitted, “Yeah. That was… I mean… Yeah. What she said.”

Allison just grinned at Scott and Isaac, Stiles guessed that she had witnessed it before. Lydia added, “Okay, so I think we’re sold on the sound part.” Stiles laughed when Scott and Isaac each pumped a triumphant fist in the air.

“Alright,” Stiles said. “I’m definitely sold.” His heart felt suddenly heavy. “I guess we’ve made our decision, haven’t we?”

“No we haven’t!” Erica looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“You haven’t told us what you think.”

Five faces were now turned towards Stiles and he felt his own face heat up.

“No, you guys are right,” he started. But he didn’t know what else to say. “It’s just, I don’t know,” he stammered. Shit, why couldn’t he just say what he had to say?

“Stiles, are you scared Derek Hale will take your spot?” Of course Lydia had seen right through him.

“Yeah,” he admitted, because lying now was useless.

“Wait, what?” Scott was looking at him with wide eyes. “Okay, so I get that you’re not super happy about another guy singing and changing the sound and me playing the drums-“ Stiles tried to interrupt, but Scott was not to be stopped. “Dude, I get that doing basically everything different is scary, but you keep this band together man. You’re the band leader!”

While Stiles appreciated Scott trying to ease his mind, it wasn’t the truth.

“I’m not the band leader, Scott. You are. Every decision the band has made until this day was yours. Even when the choice has already been made, you’re the one who has to give it the ultimate nod.”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed. “Because you want me to.”

There was a moment of silence.

“What?” Stiles was confused.

“Stiles, when there is a decision to be made, we all look to _you_. Even Lydia. _You’re_ the one who calls the shots. I know you’re scared of making the wrong choices, but you are the one who got us to where we are today and we all know it.”

They all nodded and murmured in agreement.

“Look,” Erica began, “I’m curious. About the Hale guy, about his music, about what you two will come up with together. I’m curious about what our new sound will be like, about how he’ll fit in, about where this can take us. Also he’s really hot.” Stiles smirked at her playful attempt at lightening the mood. She looked at Stiles with her big brown eyes, giving him an uncharacteristically sweet smile and his insides twisted, when she added, “But you are the leader of this band and I trust you. If you don’t want to do it then we’re not doing it. We’ll come up with something else.”

“Yeah man, you’re the heart of this band,” Isaac jumped in.

The others all murmured in agreement.

Stiles felt like an idiot and now there was a lump in his throat that wouldn’t let him speak. Great.

He swallowed noisily, took a moment to compose himself and said the only thing that felt right.

“Alright. Derek is in.”

* * *

 

“I’m so proud of you,” Lydia whispered into his ear when they were lying on his bed later that night. He pulled back to look at her face, trying to see if she was being serious. He found no traces of sarcasm, just an honest, open smile. She looked so beautiful, her hair fanned out around her head and all tension gone from her features. Somehow she looked younger than when she had opened the door of the practice room.

“That really got to you, didn’t it?” Stiles asked. Lydia nodded. “It was so hard to watch you struggle like that. And I really think Derek can help us. At least I really hope so.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. “Me too.”

Just as he was about to lean down to kiss her again, there was a knock on his door.

“Speaking of the devil,” Stiles said and got up. He had ignored Derek the entire week. He _had_ to face him sometime.

He opened the door and narrowly avoided the collision with a fist.

Derek looked horrified.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” Stiles stepped outside so his by now half naked girlfriend wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

“Listen,” Derek began, “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about how it all went down. I never meant for you guys to fight and if you-“

“Derek,” Stiles interrupted Derek’s admittedly kind of endearing if uncharacteristic rambling. “It’s okay. We want you in the band.”

Derek didn’t seem to have heard him, because he said, “I get if you want to keep playing in your – wait what?”

“We want you in the band,” Stiles repeated. “As a singer and guitarist. I’m staying though, so you’ll have to put up with me.” He laughed at Derek’s relieved expression. The genuinely happy smile underneath the stubble distracted Stiles, and for a moment both of them didn’t say anything, just smiled stupidly at each other. But Stiles definitely didn’t wonder what that dark stubble would feel like under his finger tips, because _why_?

“Alright. I’m glad.” Derek appeared to have regained his footing, as his sentences were short again.

“Okay,” Stiles snapped out of it, realizing that he had just stared at Derek’s _mouth_ for a solid half minute and blushed furiously. Now embarrassed, he kind of wanted to die a little bit. “So if you don’t mind, I’ll…” Stiles nodded awkwardly towards his door. This was going so great.

“Right.” Derek nodded once, then turned in the direction of the elevator. Then he turned back.

“Good night.” Giving Stiles a small wave he made his way to the elevator.

“Night,” Stiles called and took a moment to compose himself before going back inside.

Lydia smiled happily when he came back to bed. He settled in underneath the blankets, his thoughts still out in the hallway. With his eyes closed he enjoyed the closeness, the warmth of another human being so close to him after being alone for a week. His right hand came up to cup Lydia’s face and he ran his thumb along her jaw. The skin was soft and smooth and felt… too soft and too smooth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! :)
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated.
> 
> Why don't you stop by on [ tumblr](http://nottherightwords.tumblr.com/)?


	5. Free Shipping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Derek is in the band, they have to figure out the details.  
> Also, Boyd makes an interesting offer and Stiles is pretty sure the guy has lost it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's me! (Adele reference because I was AWOL for almost as long as she was and I'm sorry!)
> 
> Thank you guys so much for your patience, you've been so good to me. :)
> 
> Again, I would like to thank my beautiful beta [ Emela](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Emela) for her great ideas and her patience with my blabbering! Check her out, she is an amazing writer and she constantly makes me feel things. Like, seriously.
> 
> And thanks to everyone who has commented so far, you're all lovely!!! :)

# Free Shipping

When they arrived at Boyd’s office the next morning Stiles’ hair was still wet. His eyes were drooping because he hadn’t gotten much sleep and seriously, who made appointments for 10 a.m. on a _Sunday_?!

Boyd, that’s who.

While Stiles felt ready for a shot in the head, Lydia looked ready for the catwalk. Sashaying into the office in her flowery dress and 5 inch heels, she ignored Stiles’ bad mood completely; years of touring with Stiles had practically made her immune to his mood swings.

Allison and Isaac were already sitting on the ratty old red couch, Allison with her feet tucked in underneath her butt, one hand resting on Isaac’s knee, while the latter had his arm draped on the couch behind her. They grinned and waved at Stiles and Lydia when they came in. Even though Stiles knew they were close and Scott didn’t mind, he still thought it was weird. He’d have to ask Scott about that.

Boyd sat behind his wooden desk, typing on his keyboard, and wouldn’t even have noticed them if Lydia hadn’t gone over to tap on the desk top. Startled, he looked up but smiled when he saw Lydia. He told her something Stiles couldn’t hear from the armchair he had slumped down on. It didn’t matter, Stiles thought, they were about to hear all about their plans anyway.

Even though he was sleep deprived and grumpy, he was still able to enjoy the comfort Sunday mornings brought with them. The office was brightly lit by the sun that shone directly into the windows that lined two of the walls, the soft guitar music playing in the background and the smell of coffee gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling and he yawned, sinking back into the chair with his eyes closed.

The music reminded him of Derek’s show.

His heart beat aligned with the slow rhythm of the music and he just listened to the calming melody. For the first time today his head finally shut up for a moment. The soft guitar sounds went straight from his ear to his heart without being analyzed to death on the way there. Indistinguishable patterns and shapes painted the insides of his eyelids and he felt his face relax into a smile. Then one of the shapes seemed to form into a smile as well, a warm, gentle one and Stiles was so warm. It was framed by something dark and soft. S _tubble_ , Stiles thought. He felt a hand on his cheek, leaned into the gentle touch. He heard a voice, too bright, too loud and suddenly the touch didn’t feel gentle anymore at all, but instead it felt like a hand had been placed square on his face. Stiles knew that feeling too well.

“Morning Erica,” he mumbled, pulling himself from his daydream and trying to lick Erica’s fingers so she would let go.

“Rise and shine, Batman,” Erica said and Stiles could hear the smile in her voice. He opened his eyes to find a cup of coffee unsettlingly close to his face.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, feeling disoriented as he took it and she just grinned at him.

He scooted to the side of the chair to make space for Erica and the blonde crawled into his lap, comfortably lying back with her head on Stiles’ chest. Stiles kissed the top of her head. She may have been an annoying shit most of the time but she was his best geek friend and one of the best cuddlers in the world. Lydia didn’t have the patience for cuddling.

When Stiles had gotten used to the brightness he saw Scott sitting on the couch next to Allison and Isaac. He must have fallen asleep after all. Scott waved at him and Stiles waved back before rubbing his face, trying to wake himself up. Taking a sip of the coffee did a better job at that, though. Erica’s coffee could wake people from a coma, Stiles was pretty sure.

“Good morning,” called an inappropriately chipper voice from the door behind him.

_Ugh, Laura._

“Morning,” everyone greeted back, the couch trio waved and Lydia passed the chair Stiles and Erica were lounging on to go greet her. Stiles merely raised his hand high enough so it could be seen over the back of the chair.

When she came into view Stiles sighed in resignation. He hadn’t realized that she would be a part of this new arrangement as well. Laura may have heard his sigh (judging by the glare she was giving him) but at least she couldn’t hear his internal cursing, which didn’t let up when Derek entered the room. In fact, it increased.

For some reason Stiles had pictured Derek as a morning person. Getting up at six to go on a 20 mile run and shit like that. But apparently that was wrong, because the Derek standing in front of him looked like he had been beaten into waking up. His hair was sticking up in random places, his bleary eyes didn’t seem to be able to focus properly yet and even in his jeans and black t-shirt he looked… soft.

Erica turned around on Stiles’ chest and furrowed her eyebrows in confusion at him. Stiles realized he was holding his breath and let it out quickly, acting as if he was blowing on his coffee.

“Mornin’, sry ‘m late,” Derek mumbled, greeting them and Lydia individually, giving Stiles a bleary-eyed smile. Stiles suddenly had the same feeling he got when seeing a really tiny puppy yawn.

He got out a quick “morning” before chugging the remains in his coffee cup like it was tequila. Going down it burned like tequila, too. Probably because it had been too hot to chug but Stiles was too proud to ask for the throat transplant he was secretly wishing for. What was wrong with him?

He was tired. That was it. Derek gave off the same vibes as an exceptionally soft and squishy pillow and Stiles just wanted to cuddle. That was definitely what was going on here. He tightened his grip around Erica’s waist and, ignoring her strangling noises, pulled her even closer. But his throat hurt, her long curls tickled his nose and neck and it got really hot and with a sigh he loosened his grip again. It didn’t feel right. Why was he so cranky? Maybe because fucking Boyd wanted to meet in the fucking middle of the night. _Damn you, Boyd_.

Erica turned on his chest and looked at him with curious eyes. “You okay, Batman?”, she asked in a low voice so only Stiles could hear.

“Yeah, I’m just... tired. And I burned my mouth on your coffe,” he said, voice accusatory, but he was fully aware he was the only one to blame.

“Gotcha,” she said, fully aware of that fact as well, patted his arm and after a quick peck on his temple turned back around. She was used to his tired shenanigans.

“Love your insta account,” Erica told Derek then, who side-eyed Laura and got a smug grin back.

“Thanks,” he mumbled in Erica’s direction. When the tips of his ears turned pink Stiles was about to ask what that was about, but then Boyd got up from his desk and went over to lean against the long table they never used and started his speech.

“Good morning, everyone. Glad you could all make it.” Stiles couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Formal Boyd still weirded him out.

“I asked you all last week to think about combining Hale and Echo House. Derek and Laura seemed to like the idea, but Echo House was, let’s say, hesitant. Have you thought about the deal?”

Boyd had unmistakably directed the question at Lydia.

“Now wait a minute,” she responded, getting up from the couch’s armrest and walking over to Boyd with a few sheets of paper in her hand that had red sharpie circles, crosses and question marks on it. “While we do appreciate your no-nonsense attitude, there’s more to this than just saying yes or no and sealing the deal.”

They had discussed the details the night before, talked about the contract making Derek officially a member of Echo House and everything that entailed. It wasn’t very complicated considering they were signed by the same label and worked with the same team, but a few details were still to be negotiated.

Stiles couldn’t help but look over at Derek, who seemed to be focused on Lydia, but there were creases in his forehead.

“There are a couple of minor things that we can discuss between label and management,” Lydia went on, “But a few major ones that everyone should hear and speak their mind on.”

Derek’s face became unreadable.

“First, we want an easy way out.”

Derek’s face fell.

“For all of us. Right now the contract basically says only the management can break ‘the two parties’ up, the two parties being Echo House and Derek. But I don’t want them all in a binding contract with no way out at all. I’m attaching a form which gives them that. If _all_ Echo House _and_ Derek’s signatures are on it, it’s an officially valid document that frees them from the contract they will be signing if they agree to the annexation.”

Okay, it was definitely too early for law talk. Stiles was glad they had talked about it the night before and he actually knew what was going on. Only Derek had a puzzled look on his face.

“In English, please,” Erica called, earning a grateful sigh from Derek.

“Alright. If you or Derek should ever want to really end it, you can. But _all_ of your signatures are needed. Not just Derek’s, not just yours. Everybody clear?”

General murmuring and nodding seemed to satisfy her and Laura and Derek nodded, looking surprised. Laura checked something off her own list.

Then Lydia proceeded with her speech, occasionally interrupted by demands of translation. Stiles was bored and tired and spaced out for an obscene amount of time considering they were talking of the future of his band.

After she crossed the last point on her list (“Echo House will keep their band name”), Lydia turned to Derek and Laura and asked them if they had anything to add.

Looking at each other with their respective sets of impressive eyebrows raised (how could Stiles not have seen they were related?) they seemed to have a silent conversation. That or a staring contest.

“No, you covered all the major points,” Laura said when that was over.

“Good,” Lydia responded. “Then I want to hear Boyd’s offer before we make the call.”

Stiles sat up a little straighter now, remembering that Boyd had told them he would come up with a strategy if they consented to taking Derek in.

Sighing, Boyd stood up straight, stepping away from the table he had been leaning on.

“I talked to a few people, made a couple of calls and the idea of incorporating Derek into Echo House appealed to some of them. That’s how I cleared a budget of $350,000 for the new video.”

Stiles’ mind went blank for a moment and the room was completely silent. That was a lot of money.

“Wait, so they’re just giving us 350,000 bucks? Just like that?”

The look Boyd gave him for that was unimpressed.

“Of course not, Stiles. This isn’t a favor. It’s a transaction.” Boyd talked slowly, carefully.

“It sounds like a huge amount of money, but shooting a professional music video is expensive. Plus, the marketing will suck up most of that budget, but I know people who can help us with that. I give you the budget you need, and in returnyou give me a song that will take us all to the top.”

“That sounds really easy if you say it like that,” Stiles sneered. The words came out harsher than he had intended, but not by much. “But the fact that that’s what we’ve been trying to give you for over three years kinda puts that into perspective. What if we don’t come up with _the one song_? How much time do we have?”

“The investors wanted to hear the song by the end of August.” Boyd held up his hand to prevent Stiles from interrupting. A month?! A month to come up with enough songs that one of them might just be a hit? There was no way in hell they’d be able to pull that off, not even with Derek’s help.

“I was able to get us two more weeks. But that song will have to be finished by September 14th. And I don’t mean written, I mean recorded and produced to fucking perfection.”

Just as Stiles was about to protest again, Isaac looked at him and said, “Stiles. It’s an opportunity. I say we go at it _hard_ for the next six weeks and if something comes of it, that’s amazing. That might be our chance!”

Stiles hated when Isaac was right.

“What do we have to lose?” Isaac went on. “Best case, you and Derek come up with some amazing music and we get to produce a high end music video. Worst case, you and Derek come up with some good music and we’ll just keep touring and living our lives like we do now, no harm done.”

The others nodded in agreement and Stiles turned to face Boyd again.

“So you’re not cutting us off if it doesn’t work?”

Boyd’s gaze flickered over to Erica plastered to Stiles for a moment and back to him before turning from Manager-Boyd to Friend-Boyd for a moment. Stiles always admired him for the ever successful Dr.Jeckyll/Mr. Hyde performance.

“You guys might suck,” Boyd said, smiling, earning catcalls from Allison and Scott. “But you’re still my most successful act, so you have that going for you.”

Then he switched back into manager-mode.

“But you better make this work or I will make your life miserable, Stilinski.”

With a small laugh Stiles turned to his friends. They were looking at him with open faces, smiling, but not pressuring. He knew it was his call.

But instead of turning to Boyd he directed his next words at Derek who looked anxious.

“What do you say, big guy? Wanna join us?”

_Damn your fucking ears, Hale_ , Stiles thought and tried hard to keep his face under control as their tips were turning pink again. The smile spreading on Derek’s face didn’t help much, either.

Derek nodded slowly.

“I’m in.” He got up and went over to Stiles. Erica leaned to the side to get out of the way and Derek and Stiles shook hands.

Applause erupted, Isaac and Scott hugged each other, trapping Allison in between and Erica nudged Stiles’ shoulder a little harder than he would have preferred but it really didn’t matter because it was suddenly very hot and he got self-conscious of his probably sweaty hand so he pulled back quickly.

What happened next was the most outrageous happenstance of the entire morning, though. Stiles thought he was hallucinating, because he watched with wide eyes as Lydia and Laura high-fived each other.

“Did you just –“, he stuttered, stumbling over his words. “Did you just high-five Laura?!”

Lydia smirked, actually _smirked_ at him.

“I believe I did.”

“But you never high-five me,” Stiles complained, pouting.

“That’s because you want high-fives for everything. And putting your shirt on right on the first try is not high-five-worthy.”

“Ooooh, she got you good,” Erica gloated, leaning back and grinning cheekily up at him.

“Shut up,” he responded, but there was no heat behind it. The happy mood had him a little light-headed. “And get up, you’re cutting off my circulation. I still need the lower half of my body!”

Clapping his hands, Boyd tried to calm the general outburst.

“Guys, if you don’t have any questions we’re done here.”

“Alright,” Lydia called. “Lunch at Sally’s, Boyd’s buying!”

Boyd rolled his eyes, but didn’t contradict her.

“You guys go ahead,” he told her. “I’ll just need Stiles and Derek for another five minutes. We’ll be right behind you.”

Anxiety returning, Stiles let go of Erica. What did Boyd want? His mind went back to racing. He knew it had been too good to be true. Boyd wanted Derek to be the new face of Echo House. No wonder, Derek’s face beat his, by, like, a light-year. He couldn’t compete with the dangerous, somehow yet soft look Derek had going on. It was plausible, they would make a much better visual impact with Derek standing front center.

When only Stiles, Derek and Boyd were left, Boyd closed the door after the others and motioned for them to follow him to his desk.

This couldn’t be good if Stiles made them sit at the Desk of Doom.

Or did Boyd want him out of the band after all? Was he going to tell them it had been a joke? Did he want Stiles to become the silent writer behind the band, with Derek as the new leader of Echo House? Suddenly there was a hand on his right knee. Derek’s hand. His leg had been bouncing and he hadn’t been able to get it to stop. Derek apparently could, though.

He quickly pulled back his hand and looked at Boyd, avoiding Stiles’ gaze.

Boyd cleared his throat and crossed his fingers on the desk top.

“So after I saw you two together, I started thinking.” Boyd took a dramatic pause in which Stiles bit back a sassy comment on Boyd thinking.

“Have you ever heard of Larry?”

Now Derek turned to look at Stiles, his puzzled face mirroring Stiles’ thoughts.

“Who now?” Stiles asked.

“Larry Stylinson,” Boyd said before clearing his throat again and scratching his head.

The name rang a bell, but Stiles couldn’t place it.

“One Direction?” Boyd tried.

“Oh, you mean the ship.” Stiles knew all about that. A lot of Echo House fans were One Direction fans, too. And Stiles was on tumblr. He had _seen_ things.

Boyd nodded.

“Yeah, why?” Stiles asked. Derek still looked confused.

Boyd raised his eyebrows at Stiles, as if saying _don’t you get it?_

Then Stiles got it.

“What? No. No way!” What was Boyd thinking?

“ _Why?_ ”

“Could someone please explain to me what’s going on?” Derek asked, sounding frustrated now.

Pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes, Stiles motioned for Boyd to explain it to Derek.

“You know One Direction, don’t you?”

“Who doesn’t?” Derek asked.

“Right. So you know Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson?” Boyd asked and Stiles kind of enjoyed how awkward Boyd was about it all.

“You mean the two guys who are together?”

Stiles couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“They’re not together,” Boyd responded.

“But it’s all over the internet,” Derek said, clearly not getting where this was going, so Stiles took over.

“That’s the point. They’re not together, as far as I know they might not even be gay, even though I’m not completely sold on that part because they are fucking convincing. But the fans ship that.” Seeing Derek’s face Stiles quickly explained the concept of shipping which didn’t seem to help.

“Why are we talking about this?” Derek wanted to know.

Stiles sighed and got annoyed when he felt himself blush.

“He wants us to… promote ourselves as a ship.”

“He – _what_?!”

“Derek,” Boyd re-entered the conversation. “Do you listen to One Direction?”

“Ugh, I know a couple of their songs, but I don’t _listen_ to them, no.”

“And yet you still ‘know’ about Harry and Louis.”

“But that still doesn’t make me listen to their music,” Derek argued. Stiles tried not to feel offended at Derek’s unwillingness to be his ship partner, even though he knew that didn’t make sense at all.

“Not you, maybe. But they are present in ways many great artists aren’t,” Boyd explained and Stiles had to admit he had a point. That didn’t mean he was on board, though.

“Yeah, Boyd, that’s great and all,” Stiles said. “But we’re not even gay –”

“Speak for yourself,” Derek interrupted and Stiles’ head whipped around to look at Derek. What was that supposed to mean? “And aren’t you with Scott?” Derek added.

Stiles was sure his eyeballs would fall out if he were to open his eyes any further.

“Scott? What? No!” Stiles was flailing, his hands unable to follow his thoughts because _what?!_

_Scott and him?_

_Dating?_

“I saw you kissing, so I just assumed –“

“No, that was just… Scott. I’m with Lydia.”

“Oh,” was all Derek said, and if Stiles didn’t know better he could have sworn he had just seen Derek's face fall for a second. But that was ridiculous.

After a moment of silence, Boyd cleared his throat _again_ and said, “Stiles, you don’t have to be gay to flirt with Derek, I’m just saying. Obviously you guys don’t have to do it, it was just an idea. Lunch?”

How did Stiles not have to be gay to flirt with Derek? Wasn’t that the whole point of flirting? That you liked the person you’re flirting with? _Like_ like them, not just like them? But Derek didn’t say anything so Stiles just did the same and with Boyd happily talking about what a beautiful day it was they made their ways to the cars.

He’d talk to Derek about it. And Lydia. Maybe Lydia first. What would she say if he started flirting with Derek? She’d probably be really mad, so maybe the whole thing was obsolete anyway.

Since Laura had taken her Camaro and Erica, Boyd’s Volkswagen, they had to ride in Stiles’ jeep to get to Sally’s Diner.

It was a very long, very silent drive except for Boyd’s uncharacteristically cheerful whistling and every other minute a fresh wave of embarrassment washed over Stiles and made his face heat up. That was just such an outrageously ridiculous idea. And what had Derek meant by “Speak for yourself”? Was he gay? Or did he just not want Stiles to assume anything about him? Whenever he risked a glance in the rear view mirror, Derek looked as mortified as Stiles felt. A wave of relief washed over Stiles when they finally pulled up to the parking lot in front of Sally’s.

The others seemed to be enjoying themselves greatly judging by the laughter and general noise that greeted Stiles, Derek and Boyd when they opened the door to the diner.

“What’s up with you guys?” Erica asked, her tone alarmed when she saw Stiles’ and Derek’s faces.

“Nothing,” they said together, too loud and too quickly.

“Okay…” Erica didn’t look convinced, but they all scooted closer together to make space for them.

“So when do you guys want to start practicing?” Laura asked the group? “Tomorrow?”

“No,” Lydia responded and all heads turned toward her. “I have something prepared for us.”

“What is it?” Allison asked.

“I figured since you have to find a way to properly bond if you want to make great music,” she began, looking around at them, “We’ll have to spend some time together.” Stiles was pretty sure he wouldn’t like what Lydia had come up with.

“Pack your bags,” she said, her eyes bright and smiling wide. “We’re going camping.”

The table erupted in cheers that stifled Stiles’ silent moan. His thoughts were racing, picturing a thousand awkward scenarios.

Derek looked genuinely troubled, though, so Stiles leaned over and softly asked what was wrong.

“I thought…” Derek mumbled, “I thought Larry was real.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! :)  
> Let me know what you think, I love feedback!
> 
> If you want, stop by on [ tumblr](http://nottherightwords.tumblr.com/)! (I'm nice, I swear.)
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. I still believe Larry is real. Don't drag me. Or do. Whatever floats your boat.


End file.
